The Difficulties Of Raising A Cub
by DeathUser
Summary: Raising a child she should disposed of, Altria ultimately experiences the joy, pain and problems a small bundle of hatchling will brought to her Camelot. Taking the role of a father and at the same time the feared Lion King of all, will her dwindling flame of love enough to pacify the bastard child of treason? (Arturia x Guinevere) Mordred as a child.
1. Default

_Author's Note: Yo, before you go any further- the Altria you knew and the Altria here are two different persons. While Altria of Grand Order is a Divine Spirit acquiring her power after she was laid into a tree after the battle of Camlann, the Altria here chose to wield Rhongmyniad. Try reading bits of information on my other story_ _ **Fate: Grand Order**_ _'Glimpse of Her Past' chapter so you will be enlightened. So ta- ta, this is mostly her experiences raising a child in her time and the shenanigans it brings to her perfect life. I'll use a modern but more refined set of statements to a few conversations though- I'm not really that deep in literate. So, here goes._

 _ **CHAPTER I: START**_

In the dead of the night, inside a castle of stone, a wailing reached the ears of the King of Camelot.

Laying in a sheet of white inside a cold room of her status away from meddling wizard, boisterous knights, chittering servants and out of the line of sight of her Queen, she thought she would be given a peace of mind after her raid to her sister's kingdom a few days before. Reminiscence of her journey and the uncontrollable effects it bestows upon her kingdom with her honest mistake, everything has come into a fruition she unwillingly needs to be responsible of, lest she bear witness to her wife's ire and her buried desire to set aflame once more. Yet, as another bound of sound penetrates her ears, the King could only wonder where have her judgement takes a wrong turn after experiencing a peculiar feeling which blossoms inside her chest.

It's been a complete failure on their part, as they sauntered in the castle of her witch sister- Morgan Le Faye- bask in confidence to end her violent antics to grasp her kingdom out of fury to their late father- Kung Uther Pendragon. However, as they fought beast of the vilest kind and creatures out for their blood, victory was in their hands, until it was sapped by disappointment- where they find the castle of the witch void of its mistress and knowledge of her plans... all except one. With the exception of object she tried to eliminate but failed to do so, now she will suffer the consequences of such action to amplify the fate laid upon her by an insufferable dolt of a wizard.

She inevitably sits up to her tense position at her bed, laying her feet to the cold stone structure of her home and dismantling the sigh of exasperation into an action to stand up and wear her garb, completely masculine and thick- covering her true gender from the world, unsettling her mind to gauge a calm visage of power.

Finally, without much left to do but to see the disruption herself, Altria Pendragon sighs for a reason. She could not fathom the judgement she enact at bringing the cause of the interruption of her slumber within her walls, but, try as she might to ignore it- the qualms of the chain of persistence indulge her to listen and enhance her senses, captivating the soft hushes and lulls of her wife at the far end of the castle. She move in accord, pushing the thick mahogany doors to behold the hallway of marbles, paintings and furniture absent due to darkness with little lamps and candles not enough to radiate a light to guide the wallowing silence of her castle.

She hears the howls of wolfs, the snores of irresponsible soldiers and the gush of wind of winter outside, serenely instigating fear within the hearts of her citizen, while she remain intact- completely bristled by a turn of events- until she laid foot outside of the reason of her vehemence, weeping amidst the song of comfort her wife was creating for the world to behold. She entered a room to where it was laid- wrap softly within Guinevere's arms- surrounded by servants who immediately went out of the premises when she entered, leaving her besides the Queen, tired and apologetic to the chaos within the room.

Guinevere, her beautiful wife garb in a red nightwear perfectly bewitching and enhancing her curves bestowed by God, hair white as the first snow of winter, with eyes colored as the vast orange tint of summer sun, is smiling at her with her rosy lips out of her tender care for forgiveness, before she yet again glance at her arms to peek at the wailing creature, wrapped in the most expensive fabrics of Camelot. She takes no further thoughts to dispute her doubt and half- planned suspicions to the creature, and step a foot she did, closer to her wife. Altria walks forward, long blonde hair swaying with every move she took, and behold the little bundle, with the same face as her own.

It's crying its heart out to the world, cheeks red in heat, eyes crunch in discomfort with its hands bawling near its face. The small turf of blonde hair in its head are flatten with sweat, mouth open it displeasure as tears rolled out of its eyes. Altria could only stare neutrally at the display, trailing its form to its predicament, as Guinevere sways it gently and bobbed up and down a few times, yet it is all for naught- it won't stopped its antics and now, it was coughing due to the lack of air in its tiny little lungs.

Still, Altria did not move to help and sedate the little baby, wrap up in her thoughts- completely analyzing the small bundle of her mistake. The bastard daughter of hers and Morgan Le Faye.

The bundle is all what's left in the vicinity of her sister's workshop- burbling in innocence the first time she laid her eyes upon it. She wanted to know if this is but a cruel jest of her sister or a bait to lull her to madness. Or is it a simple mistake on Morgan's part or a gain of coincidence that she left her most precious 'daughter'? Altria did not know, and thus her desperation to stay away from it as far as possible. Nonetheless, with all her talk and pessimistic way of viewing the tool of Camelot's fall, she's at her limit to question her action unbefitting to her title as the most vicious king of all. Add to her perplexity are the thoughts of assurance that this is but a child created as a machination to destroy, a child created with her flesh and blood. What's most intriguing is what gave her the reason to spare its life.

She all have the purpose to kill it then and there, with Rhongomyniad poise to strike it's heart and end it as painless as the bundle would not realize. But with a single cry of the accurse word from the baby, the determination of her motive crumble like a wildfire.

She felt scared, protective, confused and possessive. All at once in a spur of moment, deflecting her decision for Camelot's prosperity, instead, it made her so human. So normal.

So needed, more than her subjects and knights combine. And thus, she held the bundle back to Camelot- a surge of emotions clashing and clustered nearly breaking her stoic face and mental capacity. Why, why is it? Why can't she slay the baby like she ought to be? Is it because her morals have lain upon a rule of undistinguishable justice to forbid killing an innocent life? Is it because of the flesh and blood of the dragon, concentrated and latching for the warm of her own core? Or is it because... she long for something she could not quite make with Guinevere? A child of her own, a being who will love her to the very moment it is born.

"Dada! Dada!" the baby wailed again and again, just like she used to when Altria had strike to aim. And how powerful it wrought, for it dismantle any thought of vengeance from within Altria's heart, replace with an emotion long forgotten. Or is it a new feeling rightfully felt by the parent who owns such child? Again, the baby hurdles and sobs its needs, and like a doll completely wrap with just those little words from the baby, Altria bend to stroke its cheeks with her thumb, drying off the tear stains in its chubby face.

The effect is astounding. The little hatchling cease her cumbersome noise, opening her watery green ocean hues to look up at the head of a figure in her wobbly vision, and as if recognizing the silhouette, she raise one lithe hand to grasp a strand of blonde hair. She touch and pull gently for several moments, then finally, she laughs in content, surprising the two adults, looking at each other in wonder, albeit Altria's more like a blank accusation.

"My my, dear husband. What a pleasant surprise this is." Guinevere merrily giggles, her melodic voice jolting the baby as it stares at the white haired woman with wide eyes, blinking softly. "Oh, have I surprise you, little one?" she then asked the child, bowing down close its face.

Now that it's completely calm and curiosity babbles its way in her throat, the baby's other hand graze her face, supporting the innocence of such child before laughing again, almost like yelling its satisfaction with a squeak of her voice.

Altria watched in absolute silence, still not moving out her hair form the child's grasp, lest she wants another bountiful cry to resonate in the castle. How much damage will it brought to the behaviors of her subjects tomorrow morning, she wonders. Now, with a pacified baby in the arms of her wife, she reflects to the changes of the fate Merlin have said once before she exchange Excalibur with her holy spear, Rhongomyniad.

She cannot change her fate, Merlin said once in conviction, but with the entrance of this child in her life, she's sure there's no backing out anymore. She will suffer the great burden of responsibilities and consequences sparing the life of her death. She knew the world will end differently than what the wizard proclaims in that dead of night at her father's grave.

No. She will proudly take everything in stride, encompassed everything with her ideals and live a life she will devote with next to her wife.

Yes, let the world hate the Perfect King standing now crumbling to the hands of a small life- a life of her doing- a baby of her own born to her desire. Merlin spoke of her life ending tragically is it not? Then she will rise to the grave and meet it halfway- for she cannot find in herself to reject this precious creature in front of her.

She cannot turn her back to the call of her child for her father.

She is not the foolish King like she was before, unleashing the Promise of Victory until her dying breathe. No. She will be her own person, Lion King of Camelot, the father of the bastard daughter, 'Mordred' Pendragon.

"Mordred..." at last, she spoke the name of her child. It tastes foreign, but oh so sweet and right. Both the woman of her life and the burbling baby looks incredibly surprise at her voice, the baby much more obvious as it went rigid and tense, before easing up at the arms of Guinevere.

"... husband?" Guinevere asked, trying to confirm if it's only her imagination or Altria truly did talk. It's surprising to say the least, Altria didn't start any conversation without meaning after all.

"... Mordred." Altria said yet again, brushing the turf of hair with her palm, earning a rambunctious squeak from the child. "Her name is Mordred Pendragon, Guinevere."

"...!" Guinevere could not respond, too frozen to think clearly when she witnesses a smile of serene happiness at her husband's face. Where have she seen it before? Probably never. And it brings her great joy, even though they are married for a decade, this is the first time her husband have grace her a smile out of genuine merriment, not because of politeness and authority.

Altria looks her in the eyes, compassion within the calm orbs radiating like fire- blaze with determination, her heart beating rapidly to the changes of events bestowed. "Mine wife..." she called, attention focused only for her alone.

"Y- yes, husband?"

"... I vowed to keep my own cub safe, will it be a burden to ask of your assistance..." Guinevere's breathe hitched, the thumping of her erratic heart increasing, a moist of tears glistening at the corner of her eyes. "... to take responsibility as a mother and father to this child?"

"Yes," Guinevere sobs in joy, looking down at the bundle which she carried without remorse. She still remembers the time Altria arrive in the castle, bathed in blood with the coldest eyes she ever saw, holding a small bundle, which she presented to her alone. Imagine the surprise of her life, a baby was given to her by her husband. She could not answer back then, could not even utter a line, as she held the baby sleeping coated in blood- with a huge resemblance to her wonderful husband.

She felt it, the strong bond of maternal instinct, to protect a precious one with all her might. She crave the presence of a child in her life, and now, as she cares and succumb to the bliss of doing a work only mothers could do, the fear of leaving the child alone, or someone taking the baby away from her. She knows not what Altria thinks back then, she merely gave the baby, but she did not assured that they will keep the child.

And now, with her questions answered, the tears of those anxiety shed its way flawlessly, akin to a mother seeing her baby out of her womb. She let everything free, thank the God for His kindness- and seek the warm of her stoic husband, nuzzling Altria's neck with a quake of her shoulders, the unusually still baby nestled between.

"I will gladly take your offer, my love." Guinevere murmured to her husband, before she smiles at _their_ child.

"Would you look at that, little one. I'm going to be your mother..." she hushed, and was gifted with a toothless laugh.


	2. Inner Thoughts

Enthralling a child is difficult, so thus the recognition of those who discerned the real reason of such want.

King Arthur's trusted Knights are in turmoil to their emotional state- debating if they were to say their actual opinions and repudiation to the incongruous choice of their Ruler or simply submit out of their will. To them, King Arthur is a divine creature in flesh, prosperity and union as their aim and an interminable supremacy for the world to enthuse with, even if inhumane sacrifices were to be made, like taking out his mortality and giving up everything. However, this admission- out of longing of a human caliber- have put those into halt and in line.

Qualm filled their heart, a humiliation to their Code of Arms. After all, they are Knights of Camelot- and they served it as much as they loved their King in his every battle. With how King Arthur assert that he will keep the child as his own and Guinevere's, one could not comprehend to retort to the speech he had given them, much less think of a vindication to debate with their liege.

Because he did not queried for their acquiescence, lest he said to be reasoned with.

He states his wants, and no further mulling or consideration his advisers did- even Merlin- could turn the tides when their king made a verdict. His iron will is strong- as well as the stubbornness quickly materializing in the figure at his throne.

They will obey as they commanded- even though problems will surely arise in the too human judgement of their Perfect King.

The citizen is blinded by their belief of what they saw back then- their King who passed the borders of their land in search for his witch sister. He urgently left the kingdom in the hands of his wife and came back with his army fully intact, with a bundle of child in his arms- completely similar and familiar, concluding it as the long lost child. They marred with perplexities, nosiness, uncertainty and worries- for a decade have passed and no single information about the queen's pregnancy had grazed the ears of their subjects until now.

Some naysayers consider it as a fraud, an adopted child of a commoner who the King pitied due to its condition. Few agreed, yet much more declined this belief.

However, everything have been put to stop when a surprising event was held in one of the small terrace of the castle- in front and above the mortal humans grazing the faces of the royalties in awe. King Arthur himself is standing next to his wife, indifferent to the eyes of the early risers who saw the exchange of the King and Queen in bafflement and complete unparalleled behavior.

The subjects need to pick the right distance to see the actions- some require to go into the roof of their home and more or less stand in their carriage or horse- for the King and Queen have never meant to make it known or even thought to make an attraction based on how far they are to the actual fence, close to the door to remain in the semblance of heat away from the harsh cold. There, above the castle of stone, stands Queen Guinevere and King Arthur, both looking down at the hands of the wife while the woman spin and giggle to the figure at her limbs, before a hand of a child appears within the confines of the Queen's arms, almost reaching up to the falling snow and the high pitch squeals reverting into the cool morning of new taciturn revelation.

They saw the smile of a mother to her child and the quite presence of the father at their backs. And finally, like a tsunami washing all negative thoughts of the citizen, the respect to the royalty grew bigger than they thought it would be, after seeing a most astounding image of their King, bowing close to the bundle and humbly used his hair for the child to play... a smile undeterred by distance moved the citizens heart, seeing for the first time- a reaction other than his common cold guise.

 _ **CHAPTER II: INNER THOUGHTS**_

It was supposed to be a fine morning in Camelot, with the harsh winter blowing its last curse to the land of Briton.

She should have seen it sooner.

She should have predicted this will occur quicker than later.

She should have left the room as soon as she was able... regretting her actions now was all for nothing...

"... Dada~!"... as the little hatchling dispose her urine in her perfectly velvet robe, made in the most rarest type of cloth- in the early time of day- with her advisers already waiting for her presence in her throne. She ceased to radiate her annoyance to her bad luck since the baby had decided to wail its desire to see her every waking moments and any time Mordred requires sleep. It's been two weeks since she decided to raise the child in the castle- now proclaimed as hers and Guinevere's- a child who will continue her bloodline and unfortunately, it seems the reason of the problem which will ascend in her life.

At first it is disconcerting, to be refused of such help in her most trusted teacher, Merlin- but the sooner that pinch of gloom make her solitude waver, comes the washed off shore coldness of the truth. Right. Merlin have been holding spiteful secrets all this time, guiding her in her demise- like Fate's soldiers anchoring to their clairvoyance. Yet she obtains real companionship in Guinevere, both in the status exactly as hers. Her wife is a true devil in politics and more so in bribery and threats. Altria heard the castle buzzes on how she flip the table all on her own against the elders of the council of Camelot- with her calm rage as Queen and the possessiveness she acquired in making the child safe. Guinevere has taken the mother figure in the highest level of maturity- inexperience at best- but her sharp words and resilience mind keeps everything at bay. Altria remembered something back then, where they were still distant and closed off, Guinevere has stormed in her study room, asking for a replacement to her personal guard with the most venomous look she have ever seen. Of course, Altria obeyed her wife due to neglecting Guinevere so much, yet the blaze in her orange eyes brings pinpricks of needles even to her guarded heart.

Since then, the council made no further attempt in making such nuisance words of 'bastardy' when she is around, and came their free reign, to handle the matter in their own hands- no questions asked, or they shall be punished. Even Merlin- the most powerful wizard of all, have only taken one single line from Altria's wife and the powerful authority was no more- in his place is a man who protects his most treasured jewel. He made those who knew- except her trusted Knights- of Mordred's origin, revised and forgotten- dismantling the trace of Mordred's past and dispatching the memories in one fell swoop of his garb.

Truly, how powerful magic is.

"Kuuuuh~, Da! Dada~!" Mordred coo, beguiling Altria's care as another wave of warm liquid penetrates her clothes, smothering her corset. Altria sighs in exasperation, still not knowing what to do. Guinevere's out of the castle, in preparation of a small feast she promised Altria herself. While she truly loath to say that Guinevere's meal is heavenly, leaving the child alone in the hands of a servant who merely watched the child while it cries is almost lonesome and unnerving.

They have so much to learn, so little time to prepare- but they have it coming, and they will not yield to the problems this small. Even though she doubt that the way she hold the baby is wrong, at least it did not yearn for a lullaby like she dearly loved when Guinevere holds her close.

When Altria see it wise to extract the child in her discreetly clothed chest and laid Mordred in her bed, she sent the servant a message to the advisers, giving them a free time until Guinevere went back. She knew she's slacking in her duties, but she will perform them whenever she is absolutely needed. She can't leave Mordred unattended with such servant who merely watched like a hawk in awe.

The servant went away, bearing her message out the door. She used this time to change her robe into a more masculine but comfortable outfit, consisting of a white blouse which is thick enough to hide her gender and pants made for men after basking a towel with warm water in the basin, on top of the table next to bed and cleansing herself. Thankfully, Mordred's wearing nothing but the fluffy blanket wet with urine, and carefully- all too gently, Altria pull the child out of the blanket and disposing it immediately at her feet. The winter is frosty and the breezes are chilling. Mordred shows no sign of discomfort, so Altria carefully swipes the baby with a warm towel, cleansing the pungent smell of Mordred's urine.

She has no experience in doing this at all, but she will not let the smell lingers in Mordred: it's unbecoming and untidy, Guinevere will murder her.

The baby's hand is so soft and little, so she tried her best to softly slide the towel in Mordred's limbs, unconsciously enjoying when the baby babbles and squeak in laughter. Twice, the baby grasp her thumb in complete success, Mordred's gripped surprisingly tight and solid Altria needs to pull it leisurely so she could continue cleaning. All the way down, the baby keeps babbling uncoherent words and giggles, kicking her lithe feet and clapping her agile hands. It seems the baby is so full of energy, she wants to play even in bed, so Altria entertain her, poking and slightly scratching Mordred's tummy while the baby withers and yells her merriment.

Altria did not know if it's alright to do so, she was merely evoking how she occasionally humors her lions when she's out in the woods alone.

The child wiggles and spits of saliva coated her chubby cheeks. Altria unconsciously wipe them, before she realize it too late. She looks at the towel in her hand in incredulity, before she blinks at Mordred's big green hues. It's still not washed, should she do it again?

' _The warm water's contaminated with my previous dirt. Should I dip the cloth?'_ Altria thought, shaking her head when she dwells about it more. It's not like it would do anything to Mordred's face, no?

Fortunately, her mild confusion was set back in her mind as she wraps Mordred in another blanket and pushes the child in the middle of the bed. It seems in her small sheer unprecedented action, Mordred fell asleep. She have the time to go now as it is, so Altria pat the child one last time in her behind until-

' _Again?'_ Altria almost groaned, but her kingly persona's still intact and she repeats the process of cleansing the child, oblivious that her chest is in the same form.

When Guinevere arrived, she points out the huge stain in the chest of her husband. She change yet again, and she's not even halfway close to her throne, Guinevere's shrill panic has her running back to the room with other Knights in tow.

The baby's face is covered in rashes, red spots dotting the uncomfortable child already at the point of crying her heart out. Altria's heart stopped, and she secretly backs away in the scenery, lest Guinevere knows she's at fault which marred their child's beauty.

* * *

Guinevere is a woman wedded to King Arthur- or Altria for as long as a decade in their ever expanding land. For many years, they only intermingled with simple greetings like strangers in the halls, discussing like politicians in dinner and breakfast, and infrequently rest in one bed with their backs turn into each other, a distance or separation are constantly present on those nights. They have dwelled to their relationship once in an assassination attempt to her life, but still... she cannot sense the affection she merits nor did she feel emotions regarding her husband as human at all.

Altria's untouched, unreachable and cold. She won't even smile in genuine kind; politeness and generosity to her subjects is her common mask, façade of a girl dressed as a man burdened by the responsibility of her blood. For a decade, Guinevere has felt truly alone, like a fine jewelry in display to the castle. She did not even experience the thrill of the court woman and maiden's gossip about the 'fun in bed' and the role as a baby maker for their crests, plainly achieving feat in her twenties as a virgin is quite a record to behold indeed. However, as much as she ponders for her life, the tightness in her chest- the yearning for something to treasure is consuming her whole.

She wants to be love like the others , hence her unusual seclusion and sensual conversation to those who adore her greatly, like Sir Lancelot- the knight who fell in love with her the very moment they met. She knows it, having the keen eyes for such things in life, and the clever instigation of the Knight's appareled fondness pushed him close to her as her personal guardian, courtesy of her husband dense to the matters of heart. She let Sir Lancelot in her life, forming infidelity behind closed doors and erasing the supple growth of the emptiness in her heart. Yet... her infatuation to the Knight did not last long, she still felt empty and fear made its way in her system, mocking her to what she done.

She did not laid with Sir Lancelot per se, merely fleeting kisses and touches in her skin- but the unperturbed rashness of what she seeks coerces her to do so, and the guilt of being unfaithful to her husband have stopped her further in their poisonous gamble. She ponders and conclude her sorrow- she need not the love of others, but the attention of her husband and a child of their own. She love Altria in the most twisted way possible, and it guides her in realization, that the man she used was just a stepping stone. Sir Lancelot persuade her, talking about running away out of love, and she responds with a slapped of abandonment in his pose, as she 'ordered' her husband to change her personal knight to those she knows. Surprisingly, Altria have agreed upon her terms and Sir Lancelot- downtrodden and still coaxing her on present- has step down in his position.

Then, a night came Altria sauntered in their shared room, a sneer of utter rage in her expression- so out of her perfect self. Altria disposed of Excalibur in pure swipe of power, hands clenching in sheer inexcusable rampage. She sooth Altria, who open up her heart- the revelation of their future, her teacher's abomination of a mind, Guinevere's impending infidelity, the splitting of the Round Table- anything which burns the fire aflame.

Altria sought to change her route, and defeat her own self to acquire the imperfect goal.

And she did, as she laid aside Excalibur and trust the Holy lance- Rhongomyniad- to guide them in a different path. Altria slowly change herself, defying the expansion of Britain in exchange for the whole undivided attention to her subject's wishes. Altria asked for her counsel, her advices and despise Merlin to the highest degree.

Since then, Guinevere used everything that may garner Altria's attention- from cooking the finest banquets for her alone to a companion in the night of Altria's unearned dispositions. Altria fell for her actions day in and day out, like a bee to the honey, and Guinevere basked it appreciatively with a beam. Altria pampered her of what she wants: a kiss, a hug, a dance- everything fully related to kinship and love. And the faithful verdict has come, where they would make love in accordance to their conversation with Merlin's help- a consummation for their heir, and the downhill luck of Morgan's plan have foiled her desire, the desire she quickly hid, so she could pacify the King out for her sister's blood.

Months have passed and Altria fled in rush, the land of her sister is revealed and they run for vengeance. It's just weeks after they arrive and the wonder she brings has completely filled Guinevere's heart. A child, completely similar to Altria- bundled up tight and beautiful in her arms. She have entertain her leaping heart and thus, the situation she is in now.

Being a mother is both worrisome and troublesome for the Queen of Camelot. She might use the tough exterior to throw off unnecessary complaints about the inexcusable upbringing of _her_ child, but the truth is harder to swallow than to actually misinterpret it as.

She's in a brink of collapsing and submitting to the fatigue and sickness involving the stress a mother endures. She's constantly worrying for the well- being of Mordred that she forgets her own.

She made convincing mistakes to her job as Queen, for she deliberately thought of the child without any care in the world, starting from that rash which she remedies with extra care and observation. Altria warned her in the unusual way of stating her thinning body and the gloom of the nights she stays awake for the child who barely sleeps with her father away. She endures it, enough that she collapse one day in the Knights of the Round Table's meeting.

And now, as her eyes open and beholds the figure of her husband at her side, little Mordred tuck in her arms silently- the queen gave a cough of warning that she is awake. Altria spares her a glance with their child, as Mordred squirm in the arms of her father, practically extending her limbs to Guinevere, sputtering words babies merely understands.

Guinevere smiled tiredly, poking the cheeks of the baby. As much as she likes to hold Mordred, she can feel how ill she is; and so she withstands it, while Altria held the baby-

 ***PPFFFFT***

"Husband?" Guinevere blinked in confusion, as Altria's face turned into stone. "... What is the matter, dear?"

"... God have bound to reprimand me," Altria monotonously says, slowly turning her head in Guinevere's direction, the same time a disgusting smell appears to pollute their shared room. "... Mordred has empty her waste upon mine lap. Tell me wife, what have I done?"

Guinevere blink once, twice and thrice... before she wheeze out her laugh to her husband's undeterred expression, Altria's front exclusively ruined by Mordred's yellow waste product. Guinevere let the husband out as she hurriedly went out with Mordred, baring the promise that they will be back anon.

Truly, her happiness keeps blooming with how Altria and Mordred are opening up to her. What a life, must be the fortune of being the mother and wife of an amusing kind. With a sigh of contentment, she dozed off to the world, unnoticing the arrival of her loved ones, guarding her in her slumber.

"M... Mamama~! Mama ma~!" Mordred's gibberish talk brings light brighter than the stars in the sky, as Altria hush the child to stay silent, whispering to the child's ear while Mordred nuzzles her neck.

"Be quite, child. Greet your mother when the sun rises." And obliged, the child did. Still and comfortable in her position at her father's arms, seeking warm none can replicate on Altria's steed.


	3. Firsts

_Author's Note: I have no huge plot here, you see; don't get your hopes up that it would be that kind of I'll give details to everything Altria and the others done in their life. This is mild stress kicker and array of one shot of fluffs and shenanigans chronologically happening in Altria's life. I made the first two backstory so no one will burn me that it doesn't happen or whatnot. And one more thing, Altria is Arturia the Blue Saber- I just change the name in a western type thing 'cause it's pretty much weird if I picture fancy people on their time saying the Japanese version name- don't blame me, my mind's pretty screwed._

* * *

Thankfully, the winter has lost its menacing wrath and the sun peek in the green fields of Britain, while the people enjoy the sun rays coursing to their skin and washing away the scent of crispiness their lungs endure for the whole season of frost. Now, it's time to grow crops and start anew for the year, as they went to their own land and farm to compensate to the lazy trail of warm moments they had on the chilling curse of the previous season.

The luscious greens and clear blue sky did wonders to the spirits and way of living the Britons have, for this is a good omen; a bright future for their land in a vast security of the Kingdom's walls.

They perfectly did their goals and project a sunny vibrancy to their next objective. All is good and well to the citizen... while much more happens behind closed doors in the castle of stone.

 _ **CHAPTER III: FIRSTS**_

Altria had seen many despicable things; both enchanting and dull to her taste, which she shreds with little to none interest to experience it again. However, there are some things worth remembering and- in this case, the key for her to remind of the lack of knowledge she had concerning the baby Mordred for the past month and days the tot's tucked warmly inside the halls.

Sure, she help caring and lulling the child to sleep if Guinevere is unavailable or the child-minders are too busy mingling away from their supposed 'master', but she's rarely next to the child a whole day- lingering less than an hour due to her duties as a king and the things that must be done in order to stabilize the kingdom's flow of businesses and neutral allies of different kind. If she did go and searched for the cub, it would be extremely late at night or the very crack of dawn before she tends to her responsibilities.

Most cases, Guinevere will dropped by to the King's study room to report and explain the development their little child have stunningly fulfill in a short amount of time, and certainly- as a new 'father' who desired for such little one to exist, the temptation to witness the first events of her child's growth has been rubbing off as of late and thus, the situation she fixed with Guinevere's exemplar guidance.

Altria made sure that it would be flawless, a bed for her little girl, low enough to prevent a potential fall akin to eastern made sleeping 'futon', placed closer to the walls of her study room where she can visually observe the hatchling in her own world, bubbling voiceless shouts and laughing without any care in the world. Altria did not mind the noise; she had much more nuisance of a nosy wizard to deal with than the innocent touch of Mordred's tone.

The nanny's come and went with the most noiseless footstep and knocks she ever heard- their fear for the King is present-, soothing the baby or playing with her before retreating to their works again if Altria or Guinevere grasps the burden in their shoulders. Altria patiently await their return, glancing at her child before prompting her mind to innovate and made a progress to her load. The sunny sky has expressed her lively mood and the refreshing wind of the year has the fragrance of blooming shoots and grasses.

"KuuuAhh~! Mmmaaah~! Dedededaaaah~!" She heard the baby bursting in another feat of giggles and gibberish squeals, calming her that Mordred is still there, just a little arm reach.

Many times the process continuously engage her to glance and did her deeds, but it seems she was more engross to her work than the actual baby as she simply realize she was working far too long, and the usual silence which engulf her study have been disconcerting. She pauses in her writing and raise her head up to verify the baby's being-

Only to see the bed without the occupant in its middle. Altria gazes at it emptily with her usual cold eyes entertaining her halting mind before reality kick in. Her child- her two month and days old Mordred is missing.

"!? Child?" Altria whispers out in astonishment.

She stand up in rush, accidentally sweeping parchments and papers to fall, stepping forward and rounding off the bed to locate her source of distress. Her heart's pounding with every seconds she cannot see the visage of Mordred- mind in utter chaos of what she had missed. She round the her study repetitively close to the bed; searching narrow bookcases, the door if someone walks in, the bottom of the couches and seats, throwing and pulling out the pillows to find the blonde tuft of hair but still-

"Child?" she could not find the cub. She did not realize her hitching breath and the sweat rolling of her cheeks in a cold trail. She stayed there not knowing what to do. She did not hear anyone entering nor she can't exactly pinpoint were the cub have gone to- Mordred cannot stand up still after all.

Sorcery? She believed so, but it merely ignites a new wave of nervousness in her heart- she was caught off guard and now her recklessness had paid the price. She's in the full belief it is the reason of the disappearance of her child, so with her biting anger rushing in, she trot at the door with heavy footsteps-

"Uuuwa?" – until Altria hears the sound of her child in the vicinity, directly behind her. Tersely, Altria turns her stare at her own table, ruddy mahogany wood pristine and dotted with materials and documents, catching the sunlight at its smooth surface and the shadows of the room in its bottom. Then, as though the shadow shifts, a turf of hair appears and Mordred came _rolling_ on the floor, a single parchment in her hands as she munches the upper part.

Mordred's eyes blink, comprehending why the big figure is next to the go- go way where the smelly women- minus the white lady- is going out, then, as though she understood the implication, a whine escapes her throat as she throws away her play thing to settle on her stomach and reach for the big figure to not leave her alone- her eyes stinging to the upcoming tears.

Mordred pats her hands and kicks her feet restlessly, head bobbing dangerously close to the floor, the irresistible pout and reddish wave of blood in her face accelerating, before she wail her fear, calling 'Dada' again and again.

As a sob rocks the baby, Altria swoop down and held the child in her arms, still stunned that Mordred is 'rolling' on her own- a no easy feat for a two month old. A warm feeling blooms on her chest, chasing away the residual anger and weariness of such small misfortune. Happiness. Pride. Giddiness. Feelings that Altria buried before sprouts its way in her veins, her 'Father genes' showing, for she saw a first time incident of her little cub's growth.

Altria exhales the breathe she was holding, blaming herself for not looking at her own shadowy table, before she hush to the baby's ear more, kissing Mordred in comfort to the head. "Forgive my incompetence, child. I am shock of what you did." Altria dumbly explains to the child, cleansing the cub's tears with her thumb and smoothing the ruffled tuft of blonde in her palm.

"You made mine heart leapt, you scoundrel." Altria softly chastised the baby, earning a coo of solemn nuzzling- like the baby is apologizing- which Altria hummed in the same sincere way, purring to vibrate her throat and ease the baby's worry. "Yet mine heart soared with joy. Do not grow too quick child, alright? I can wait for many years to come." She added, before walking back in her chair, now the child in her arm and the other busy organizing the files.

An hour had passed, Guinevere walks in and smiled at the scenery of a visage created from heaven- the rays radiates and creates halo of elysian field perfecting the picture...

The picture of a father and daughter sleeping on the chair comfortably; Mordred tucked in at Altria's front with her face resting peacefully on the father's chest, with the King protecting her with an embrace, expression serene and with a smile on her face.

* * *

"Dear God!" Guinevere released such noise- biting her left thumb as she creased her brows in pain. "L-little one, gentle- _gentle,_ please!?" she whimpers like a little girl, unbecoming for a queen such as herself, while Mordred suckle on her bosom, finding some semblance of milk.

This would be the first time she enact a case of incredulity. She would remember the longing she was inducing when she saw the nannies of her child feeding Mordred in their mammary glands if the milk from cows could not make it at nights. She would see their expression, some smiling and some humming to her great jealousy- while she stays beside them like a hawk, making sure her child would not cause an unpleasant misunderstanding that the nannies are her 'Mama'.

It felt wonderful, to be called 'Mama' once or twice when the baby saw her. Mordred will gave a shout of joy when she's near, arms raise in excitement beckoning her to come closer and swept the bundle many times. Yet with every bonding moments they had, it's still not enough for the queen.

She wanted to know how to become a mother before, now, she wants to actually experience what mother feels in this scenarios. So, with a _little_ prompting and _few_ threats to the pompous Camelot wizard, she was gifted with lactating bosom, enough to sustain Mordred's needs for many months.

"Ah- Ouch, Mo- Mordred, gentle honey." However, as she presently grumbled the pain it evoke in her system- inexperience and first time combine-, she could not help but endure it like many times, looking down at the child wide eyed staring at her face, curious with a touch of small smile every now and then while she pauses in her suckling.

The queen blinks the same Mordred does, playing a game only two of them knew, practically staring whoever cave in first and foremost. Mordred's innocent green eyes looked at her in wonder, inquisitive and partly indulging to the pampered kisses Guinevere's showering the little one. She squeals her fun and kicks her feet many times, dislodging the blanket covering her which the queen quickly smooths out.

Guinevere draws a short chuckle, prioritizing to ignore her pain to view the satisfaction of her little child. She held the little hand grasping her soft locks slowly, and hummed she did- witnessing the blissful closing of the child's eyes, the corner of Mordred's mouth quirk upwards a short grumble of enjoyment pertains in her wonderful position.

The queen hummed and sang lullabies of comfort, before she felt the pain pulsing in her chest stopping, beholding the sweet look of her child, sleep and nuzzling her bosom, its peak tucked in her child's cheek like a pillow. She withdrew and used this time to cover herself, placate that it's still intact unlike what she believed to be the end of her flesh.

Safely extracting Mordred in her person, the child gave a faint whimper and a frown stopping the queen in her tracks. "Mamaaaa..." the baby drawled, hands unconsciously rising to seek the white locks she always played with. When Mordred can't find it, the faint whine of discomfort washes her infant mind- the queen's in shambles of what is happening but she gave in and smothered the child in her front, dutifully easing her warm heart to the knowledge that the child wanted her presence- Guinevere's love enchanting the baby in her dreams, away from the shadows of the dark.

The sight of her wife and child in the night of pure tension on the court- bubbling nonsense on their shared bed- ease the knots of pressure in Altria's shoulders when she arrived. Shredding her clothes and settling next to Guinevere, she waited the almost uniform way the mother and child squealed in surprise, muscles tense at her silent intrusion, before greeting her with their jovial cheer and lovely smiles. Altria find her wife much more attractive than any other day- truly, Guinevere's beauty knows no bounds- and the way her eyes lit up in the dim room they are in flash out every problem away she received to the pending events in her land.

And thus, she hesitantly drew a surprise Guinevere in a half embrace- their child in between, in bliss and innocent to the happenings to her surroundings.

Altria closed her eyes in resignation, never minding the hitch in her wife's throat, before succumbing to sleep, handing her life in her wife's hands to protect.


	4. Bittersweet Acceptance

_Author's Note: Lancelot here did not know Altria is a woman because Guinevere did not exactly reveal the truth and did not ended up like in history as the unfaithful wife who bedded the Knight._

* * *

He worshipped her as much as his loyalty lies to his King. He- a Knight to Camelot who buried his wanton secrets beyond closed stoic and indifference, fought hard against his honor and the desire of man to take a woman. He, who values his sight as a warrior faced fears within everlasting haunts of the war cries bafflingly dismantled everything for the sake of love.

Lancelot; he is called. Dragon slayer, a knight in the caliber befitting to sit in the Highest Order Round Table serving God and Britons is a few of known facts of man inside of a glimmering steel.

He loved his job, more so in the presence of a King who leaves the battlefields unscathed and holy to his eyes. He devotes his life protecting the little man known as King Arthur and succumbed in the liege rule... yet, as the time passed and his attention are solely being captivated by a beautiful wife of the King- his unbecoming acts of trepidation of lust have been a worrisome problem the Knight endures.

He experienced craving for the eyes of the queen to befall in his eyes...

To taste the sweet lips carved into a polite and wonderful smile...

To touched the supple mounds and warm skin of the goddess next to his liege...

... And to simply embrace the morose woman in his arms; to take away the lonesome ignorance of Guinevere's husband.

His dreams have come true, as a day had come that those things have happened behind closed doors, away from the King's cold demeanor and avoidance while the wench side of the Knight called Lancelot suffice to indulge in a bliss he thought would last.

She sought his affection which he gladly gave with all his heart. They 'fool' around, giving into the sweet serenity and night escapades on chilly nights. Lancelot thought it would be forever...

Alas, it was not meant to be.

The queen is always for the King. Not for him. Not for the Knight. Not for a humiliating secrecy. And certainly not for a person who will derive Guinevere of her chastity.

He was swept aside like a ragdoll, which he flail and subdue his definition be. However, the queen barely has anything for him, and the infatuation which ends scars his heart to bleed.

Now, as he stared to the woman of his life in the garden of roses, cradling an abomination of the King's child in her arms- deep feelings resurface with vigor, grasping his clouded mind with jeer and dauntless sneers of domination, much more as the King went and entered the twisted view of the queen and the child.

Wearing such calm façade and a dignity shamefully could not be replicated, striding with authority and a single rose in his hand...

"Wife." The King greeted, placing the luscious flower perfectly nestled in the queen's ear with an affectionate gaze, before the mighty King kissed Guinevere on her temple-

And Lancelot sees no more, already walking out of the vicinity, his eyes betraying his earnest wail for the blossoming queen.

 _ **CHAPTER IV: BITTERSWEET ACCEPTANCE**_

It's been those days of complete unluckiness, an abomination of an event of sheer pitiful childish acts of nosy nobles who owns none but a small fraction of votes from her throne. She was given vile protests of their own selfishness, which she regards with a nay tolerable nod of her head all the time.

She endures their whining, their inexcusable and irrelevant judgement of wealth and welcome them to her castle with a cold demeanor perfect for a king in her status. Her knights are on guard, still and poise to defend if need be, but she knows none will dare; her gripped is an absolute must to her reign.

Yet, as the topic at hand grew haywire and politics and grizzly gazes expects one another to challenge and eliminate further protest, comes a mere question who invokes a chilling glare from the King.

It was an inquiry of her child's well- being- _sounds normal enough_ \- but it all went down the drain as the arrogant man who gave a speech abrasively talks about his son, a year older than Mordred- a fine boy perfect for Altria's _child._ The King let him engrossed in his fantasies, a motif behind harmless words of a treasure hunting bounties. Some gave voices to their children also, a simple chittering of their offspring and completely disrespectful jabs of marriage proposals for a child who can barely crawl on her own.

 _Fools,_ Altria thought bitterly as she resist on unsheathing Excalibur to behead the unwitting nobles of her kingdom. The talking cease as she gave her silent rejection, eyes piercing souls with pure pressure... and her people says no more. They all went out quietly, some holding their arms to keep the frozen green eyes of hers from tormenting their minds with their incongruous distress.

Her Knights paid close attention to her fanned fury, awaiting reactions with deep breaths and eyes opened for the changes slowly burning itself in her personality. She let them, like she always did-

"Dada!" until a shrill merry shout of her cub cut the cords of chains in her comfortable seat. She stands up abruptly, heads turning to the entrance of East Wing of her stone castle, beholding an upright Mordred inside the queen's hold, frantically moving like a babe she is with her left hand cutely opening childishly, beckoning for the King to come closer to their place.

She takes one step before she falters, minding the stares her Knights have been giving in accordance to her bastard. They varies on expression, from Gareth's interested quire, Agravain's stoic face, Bedivere's frown of concern to Gawain's pure shock and disgust to the child.

She knew her Knights have their own reason to distrust her judgement on sparing the child, but- as she glimpse the veins in Gawain's throat ready to gust, an irritation for the Sun Knight she never knew existed came to the surface in flash.

"Dada!" Mordred called again, body angled sideways in which her queen followed, slowly walking to prevent future slips of her feet. If only Altria had naturally ignores the baby due to the rift it may claim in her Knights and their loyalty, she can secure the prosperity of her realm as well as the trust they gave to her way of ruling.

Yet, as the babe create an innocent face which swindles fire of love in her heart, Altria can't pull the strings of indifference in the call of her own cub. Like she was put in twines and being played in Mordred's tiny little fingers, Altria could not turn her back and silently avoid the burbling trash of the child's words.

Dada, the word Mordred always called Altria, an illegible phrase where its definition is unknown. It's hard to express how flippantly these small words affect the King in the most notorious way possible.

She is the King of Camelot, the feared female in disguise- Lion King wielding the Excalibur and Rhongomyniad, the King who unites the Britain by defeating 13 Kings in war and yet-!

"Dada..."... and yet why did she certainly look like an imbecile always on guard in whatever her child needs? She realize she dwell too much in her mind, as she was met with a concerned Guinevere in front of her, little Mordred's face red and pouting, ready to burst out whining to be ignored by her father.

"Leave us," was Altria's short dismissal before she strides down in two flight of stairs, feet clanking noisily, before she ignores all judgmental gazes of passing servants, citizens and Knights who will catch her unbefitting stance of parenting...

"Mordred," ... to hold the child in her chest vertically, kissing the growing hair softly with a tender look she would like to reveal. "Have you been good to your mother?"

"She is well behaved, husband." Guinevere replied in earnest, shooting one last look at the baffled witnesses who scrambled out clumsily before she place herself next to the King, chest pressed in Altria's arm and hands smoothing out the little bundle's simple garb of clothes.

She internally chuckles, perfectly reminiscing how Mordred's face crunch up in disdain upon being presented by frilly dresses of their realm. The queen giggles as she realized Altria and Mordred's similarities of clothing. _Like father, like daughter._

"Hn," Altria nodded her approval, patiently letting the child run its saliva coated hand to caress her face in interest. "Though I loath to find she likes to play with her mouth."

"She is but a child, love. She will grow up on her own." Guinevere responds, before she looks straight at her husband's eyes, mild mirth dancing in her orbs. "Perhaps, she was not the only one who grew those last few months."

"What do you mean, Guinevere?"

"You have grown taller, Arthur." Guinevere said in complete appraisal, using Altria's manly name to doze off gossips of her husband's real gender. "I once met a man who barely sees the crown of my head, now that man has been standing quite tall beside me that I might jest that our height overturned its own..."

"... Indeed I'd have been." Altria agreed slowly, tracing her wife's form with repressed admiration. It might be the cause of Avalon's location, nestled between Mordred's ever beating chest, away from Altria's body which had stopped the aging for over a decade she had it in her side. Now, while she was reminded of the missing object of her youthful immortality and the realization of her changing body, Altria surmised the pleasing outcome.

Gone was the unconscious jealousy of a height her Knights have.

Gone was the pitiful thought of failures a woman she is... for she satisfyingly set all behind her, as the King relinquish one hand to raise and pat her queen on the head, curious and rosy cheeks blooming beautifully.

"... And so are you." Altria continued, leaning close to a shell shock queen, kissing Guinevere's temple once more just like how she did in Camelot's garden-

"Muuuu... DADA!" -when suddenly, Mordred cries with all her might. Altria step aback, the child flailing her hands in complete fury, jealous for not being paid close attention enough.

"Oh dear..." Guinevere nervously chuckles, hiding her dazed smile with a palm. "It seems we ignore our child for too long."

Indeed they have, as Altria heavily sighs and buried the large thump of warm surfacing in Guinevere's presence, holding the red child an arms- length and a wet stench wafting off her cub's lower region.

 _I hope it is your blessing,_ Altria thought somberly, indicating her quite fondness to bond more with her Guinevere.

It have been smooth since then, the subjects mind their tongue in the company of both their liege, and the little blonde child playing at the foot of their throne, prurient and babbling incoherent phrases and high pitch tone. Eyes protectively piercing their reasons and incapability to please and disappoint the little princess, the King and Queen are the epitome of the Ruler of Beasts, secured and ready to pounce, if the cub had willed it be.

* * *

Dawn is a fine hour to reflect and meditate; a good chance to see the rising of a new future and a day which bring never ending promised wonders and truths. The King and Queen of Camelot have been doing it every waking moment after all. However, as Guinevere was awoken with a rustle of clothes and greeted with the visage of Lancelot silently dressing Mordred with a coat of fur in her dim lit room, she knew there's something more that will happen, hence the abrupt way she sit upon her and Altria's shared bed, hair flowing in a charming ruffle of sleep and eyes betraying her wariness to the Knight.

"And what, pray tell, are you planning to do with my child?" she tried to sound approachable, but her harsh voice due to her sluggishness rings like a threat, stopping the handsome Knight in his tracks with baby Mordred dead to the world. She quickly realize Altria is not with them anymore, a looming dread set her on edge, prying the child in her bosom –squirming but nonetheless out cold- , away from the silent Lancelot.

"Knight, I am asking you." She venomously stated, ignoring how the knight roams her translucent nightwear fitting her well- endowed body on right places, hiding the goosebumps with a flutter of blankets to keep the breeze out of her system.

"Ah! F- forgive me, my Lady." Lancelot, stupefied mere seconds ago, bowed in absolute sincerity, wide palm on his chest to sought forgiveness. "I am merely preparing Lady Mordred on behalf of His Highness' request."

"What for? My husband has not told me of this event requiring _my child_ out on dawn."

"I swear on my honor, I am not a burglar to steal Princess Mordred. His Highness has been opting to let the babe experience the ride with Haunt circling the borders, anon. It seems to be an irrelevant time, yet the sun will peek at the horizon sooner that you hope." Lancelot explains; head resist taking a glimpse of the ravishing body of his majesty, hiding the mild combustion of thoughts to the world.

"I... The borders are too far to my liking. Are you certain my husband have asked this boon?" She circumspectly asked, before the silhouette of Altria came into their door, bearing a fur coat and a blanket tucked in the nook of her arm.

The King gave them her indifferent persona, merely sweeping off the clatter of toys gently to the floor and gave the knight a slight nod. Guinevere tersely flatten her lips in a thin line, easing her shoulders after Lancelot salutes and silently leave the premises, not without giving her a longing look, a gaze she can barely quench to hide her dearest regret. Now, as the room was bathed with quite rustles of toys Altria is organizing, comes the irritation ticking out of the queen's veins.

"Altria..." she hissed, unbefitting and disrespectful- but it serves its purpose; gaining the focused of the husband, attentive and held straight. Her orange eyes portray hurtful betrayal, locking with the controlled green orbs of the blonde in front. She should be happy and understanding to the situation, but Altria has struck a chord of frustration within Guinevere. "... You could have reminded me at once of what you wanted to do! What will I do if I wake up and our child is not in my clasp? Do you want me to earn a malady and let me die in sheer panic?!" she yelled angrily, ignoring how fresh tears flow in her eyes, falling in her child's cheek.

Altria grew taunt, frozen and calm as Guinevere sobs her fears, the guilt of seeing Lancelot once more and the nerve wrecking drawn conclusions of 'what ifs' about Mordred's safety. It must be from her domineering possessiveness and mother's love, she dare not grew imagination of Mordred away and reclaimed by her true mother- Morgan Le Faye-, for her heart certainly will not take further grief.

"You... you could have just told me..." she murmured again and again, trembling which spurred the baby to shift and wake up with a small frown in her blonde brows. With the moments encircling the silence, Altria step close to her wife, sitting beside the queen and gently, _almost_ hesitantly, snake her one warm arm on the white haired woman's waist, embracing the displeased wife.

Altria barely move her mouth; she knew not how to calm her woman. Yet, as she once read before, actions speaks louder than words, so- without further she do, she gave Guinevere a soft kiss close to the trembling lips, tasting the salty tears and hearing the hitch of her woman's throat, nose red in incredulity.

"Apologies... my _Guinevere._ " Altria softly whispered, leaning her head in her queen's ear. Once more the pile of regrets she discarded in her imperfectly incapable personality had done its effect, a tear of her wife, a sin in her manlier side. "... I do not wished to clad your heart with morose, as I thought it would be wise to take you two out of our castle, I do not consider asking for your permission... Perhaps, I might postpone it after all..." and with Altria's rambling clearing the fog mind of Guinevere, the realization hit her like a ton of brick.

"Take us... two?" she slowly clarified, eyes blinking to find Altria's gaze at Mordred squirming in her bosom, playing with Altria's blonde hair.

"Hn," Altria nodded, before she gave an apologetic smile, so small it was untraceable in the dim room, but Guinevere felt it, the sadness concealed within those orbs. "I would like to... spend some time with my wife and child. Is it... is it wrong to do so?"

"It is not," Guinevere said with a deviant pout in her lips, cheeks burning in complete bafflement and embarrassment to Altria's cute demeanor. She loved the idea of spending time with her husband.. however, "... I would love to accompany you, my love, but is this the right time for such moments of ours?" she continues at last, exasperated at Altria's obliviousness to the weather that might affect their child.

One of her weakness, yet it sees how big she cares for both woman and child.


	5. Gnawing Concern

_Author's Note: I wonder what kind of event is appropriate for the next chapter I'll post on December 25? Care to share your thoughts?_

* * *

It's been many months when the blonde child bearing the King's face was proclaimed Princess of Camelot, the heiress to the throne. She was met with acceptance and dwindling affections from the servants who observed her growth and heart melting actions. Mordred's joyous smiles and innocence bordering sinful, captures anyone who graze upon her expressions; acutely resembling perfection and a true gift from God.

Nevertheless, all who passes knew the impending danger if they touch and drew near to the young heiress, much to the King's keen way of showing his warnings that displeased his child and the cunning way the Queen can turn one life asunder; ashes to be thrown recklessly on wind.

It's so impeccable, how such a little angel could be passed down into the holiest royalty who ever grace Britain's land; so fitting and appalling, like a the little piece in a puzzle of fortune and faith.

Mordred Pendragon is loved and respected to those who barely knew the child, however, the opposite were to be said in behalf of the Knights who grasp the knowledge of her birth, her imperfection and the gruesome way she was spawned as a mere weapon, to the very man who spares her life.

Moreover, none could enact the same way how Merlin could not acknowledge the babe as a real 'human'- the person who made such mistake to tell Altria the truth of her future and the moments which change everything. Truly, as Merlin gaze at the Queen of Camelot pampering the 'object' with love- history has change its course.

Gone was the wife's infidelity.

Gone was the revelation of Mordred's rebellion.

Gone was the death of King Arthur Pendragon.

He should be glad, but the truth remains the same.

A single flap of a butterfly's wing creates tornadoes in the other side of the world... and so thus this butterfly effect- the doom is still lurking...

The proof is in his hands, awaiting to be delivered to someone else.

 _ **CHAPTER V: GNAWING CONCERN**_

"Maaama! Uwaa! Uwa! Umamama!"

Guinevere are accustomed in adapting to what she dearly desired, whether it's parenthood or a ruler who succumbed in a blissful affections of a cold woman with a heart ready to sacrifice for what is right. Fears are common emotion to accompany the word change, good or bad, right or wrong- it matters little when the results were presented in front.

That is her main doubt at the moment, as she dubiously dare not blink her eyes to greet the next day with little Mordred crying in her arms, lids crunch so tight it swell with unshed and flowing tears, certainly in pain somewhere, much to the queen's dismay.

As much as changes do not affect the way Guinevere's perspective towards life, what little it could make her Mordred distress seems to quake her more than it should made known.

"Hush, love." She soothes again and again, but to no avail. Guinevere's heart is twisting itself as she looks how her child would cry her lungs out, chest raising and falling abnormally fast, wrenching whatever her tiny lithe hands can hold and gush out painful weeps of unstring words incomprehensible and high in tone.

The baby has grown quite spectacularly; able to crawl with eight months and a fortnight of rolling much to the King and Queen's horror, she can be precisely cultivated as an energetic fellow with an overall happiness of seeing something new.

She was seen weeping and crying in a spurt of moment, such as the time her father were ignoring her, the moments when the lion cubs will bite her weak feet or when she simply dislike and guarantee what will make her spoiled, courtesy of Altria's mollycoddling. During her times with the little blonde, Guinevere had no recollection of seeing the babe cry at waking wees when she's around.

So it is a big surprise to see Mordred in a twisted agony in which the location is unknown. It made the Queen teared up unconsciously, searching for what made the child wail nonstop.

"Mama! Mama!" Mordred called with all her might, face covered in mucus, sweat and tears- which the queen quickly cleanse with a warm towel, ignoring how the flailing limbs can hurt as much as it can softly pushed itself out on her embrace.

"Shh, I'm here. I'm here, child." She tried responding with every short pauses, kissing and bouncing on and off the irate child, but it is no effect; Mordred's still tearing up, now voice deep and scratchy, with a mild coughs stopping the wails. It did not make the child stop, but it sure did make it worse as Mordred coughs out milk she sucked in the Queen's mounds.

The bed creak in pressure as Guinevere tangled her bare feet at the chilled floor, standing gently and swaying with a lull of uttered comfort, drawn out by the child's voice. Little Mordred tucked one hand in her mouth, almost pulling something out of it, much to the confusion of the queen.

She tried to take it away, but the babe won't cease her antics, arguing with the mother repetitively and screeching wildly, piercing the ears in an unpleasant way possible.

"What could your pain be?" she frowns in concern, patting and searching for the whereabouts of the illness, until her palm grazed the baby's forehead, red and uncomfortably hot. "Dear God!" Guinevere cried in surprise, alerting the guards outside her bedchamber.

"Your Majesty!?" one soldier opens the door, four remaining guards ready to enter, alert and tense for action. Guinevere swept pass them dauntlessly, weaving with the grace of a dancer and sprinting off with only a thin cloth to hide her body to the prying eyes, She soared and turns in the labyrinth of stones, little Mordred vomiting out milk some more, clinging in the Queen's bed clothing, her cries intensifying.

"Dear love, _please_... please be alright," Guinevere prayed to God for Mordred's fever to subside, a foolish direction in mind.

She ran like a madwoman in an earie morning scandalously, out and about in the castle, entering the door of the maiden healers' chamber yet not a single soul was in. She searched high and low to their whereabouts, absolute uncertainty and panic nestles in her heart. She could not find them, not a single hair of the trusted healers she rightfully place in her home, for many sprint and breathless heave she produced to acknowledge their potentials, deep disappointment crashed and wake her petrifying hurdles for the safety of her child.

She gave up at once when she made a surprising return to her chambers, breathless and sweaty- bewildered and in sheer derange state. She could not help the small sniff of cry she tried to hide- none will see the tears of a queen- and made a swift motion to hugged Mordred in with all her heart- for this is the only thing that she can give- uneducated at once and misguided of the happenings troubling one babe.

She stood dumbly naïve, looking as the child tiredly chokes on her own bile, now gums bleeding- much to the queen's defeat. If only she knew the very reason behind this event, she could make a bluff of some sort, a comfort which could not copied and changed- however, healing persons betrayed her, as much as Merlin betrayed her by turning his back when she sought for his help.

She felt compelled to asked Altria for assistance, but the King bears too much of a burden shouldering the kingdom while she cared for Mordred- she must not pressed weights further, unless there's absolutely no way it could be hidden by the blonde king.

Alas, her misfortune shall not last, as Sir Ector- captain of her Guards arrived in a flurry of brown cloak, entering her shambled room with sympathy, brown eyes befalling to the sack of babe, gloomy and red with the queen, disheveled and a lack of a better term- hopeless.

"Your Majesty," Sir Ector announced his greeting, bowing slightly on respect to the queen. When no answer pertains in the air, with Guinevere's head bowed low that her hair covers her expression, Sir Ector willed it to step afoot and regard the wailing fledgling, inspecting closely much to the queen's earie quiry.

"Sir Ector," the queen uttered, brows furrowed in tiredness. "Neither my heart nor my soul can bear this agony. Pray tell, what is happening to my baby?"

"At ease, my queen," Sir Ector consoled, flashing a paternal smile towards the queen, placing a huge calloused hand atop the baby's wet head. "I am quite experienced with children and there I say your babe has contacted a common fever connected to her next gift from the Ever Mighty Lord."

"And that is?" the queen asked impatiently, eager to hear a glimpse of the truth. The old Knight barely move a muscle, pointing at the bleeding gums of the child, moving his finger in a slow fashion- until Mordred's green eyes saw the limb close to her mouth, and she drew a high screech of disdain, blood and saliva combined sputtering in her painful mouth.

"A common occurrence, my queen. The first tooth of your child had breached her gums quite grotesquely; more so for the little babe- her canines' protrude undoubtedly earlier than the front, three tooth for a day, what a very excruciating experience."

Guinevere stared dumbly at the knight, then as though it would be the first time she saw the said tooth, she closely inspect that indeed- it is there, in her child's mouth, red and pulsing terribly, begging to be acknowledge by her twin sun of orbs.

 _Is it perhaps... the uncomfortable feeling I felt when I nursed her?_ Guinevere berated herself internally, lowering her shoulders and letting a small chuckle of gratefulness to Sir Ector. It seems her gnawing fears were half- devoured by the confession like water in ember, she thought more will be the reason behind it all.

Then, before she could open her mouth and speak her gratitude to her Captain, the teasing rough smirk was in place of an aged face, looking to the door where it seems interesting to be ignored about. Perturbed, Guinevere turned her gaze also, only to meet a pair of greenest eyes, calm from the outside, but the seething concern behind the door of one soul is permanently present.

King of Camelot- Altria Pendragon is there with them, regal and posture straight. Guinevere joyfully smiles-

"I heard my wife was possessed by a demon, running about like a newborn on the walls." ... – until Altria's nonchalant statement brush it all aside in one fell swoop, with Sir Ector raising one rough hand in his beard mouth, hiding the almost broken façade of professionalism to hide the boastful mirth of the words.

 _Altria... such a way to ruin my mood, love._ Guinevere vilely thought, pouting in embarrassment before turning without responding to her husband, little Mordred still not ceasing her burst of wails.

* * *

" _What is this." It is not a question, but a stated word without emotions, just like her common tone; shielded and controlled._

" _A boon Arthur, from my late student and your own sister. Have you forgotten already? Such a shame~"_

 _She dared not look at the wizard in front of her throne, sluggish and grizzly in movements, wearing a perfect white cloak, which presents her a box of sort, insignia of Faye she dare not forget. The box covered in a tightly knotted violet robe and another black towel weighs suspiciously gentle, but with the sounds and movements the object inside makes, it could be literally heavy._

 _She did not trust herself to inquire her teacher about Morgana or how he received the accursed box- she had nothing left to give hope that Merlin will gave her a straight answer, his past confession told Altria enough on how it is fine for the wizard to see her walk the path of death every time._

 _She silently open the box out if her accord- hesitance is not a way of a King, much less to a girl in disguise like er, avoidance is a futile way of admitting defeat towards the face of a meddling wizard she despised to call 'teacher'. With the violet soft to unclasped and the black ruffled clothing out and mangled neatly in her lap, she lift the lid with sheer caution of what is inside..._

 _Only to behold the gleaming steel that should perfectly adorned and state the glory of a single knight._

 _The magic word was 'should', as she regards the palatable way it could not even be worn much even with the smallest man in her chivalry- but of that a child, barely big enough of a year- suited for her little cub in all its perfection._

" _... Well, well, would you look at that~ Another part for a long life of your... '_ _ **toy**_ _'." Merlin chides, smug and indifferent, making the King test her patience to the man._

 _It is one to be insulted as her own, as a king is an object symbolizing a peace within one's kingdom, but it is different to be called one's precious treasure of life of some mere 'object' to be discarded, much more it's her wonderful child._

" _Hnh, no one can change the past, Arthur. That thing is and will always will, your 'bastard'." Though Merlin read her mind, he huffs in a dismissal disgust in passion- shooting one last snort of disappointment to the child in the nook of Guinevere's- the queen sitting at a smaller seat than of the King's-, the little babe demure and still recovering from the terrible experience of teething, scared to the lousy wizard who smells of the flowers on bloom in Spring._

" _Mind your manners, Wizard," Lancelot and Bedivere wield their swords at the blatant disrespect of the wizard towards the small heiress- even though they agree upon Merlin's words, their loyalty to their liege is stronger than their belief. ", you are in the presence of Camelot's king and queen." The violet haired knight continues, regarding the white haired wizard a narrowed scrutiny; ablaze with his current hate towards the rascal._

" _Be as I may," Merlin responds tiredly, turning his back and leaving with a flurry of blooming lavenders, not without one last look and question for the King._

" _Tell me Arthur, this fleeting happiness... are you certain it will last?"_

"Dada?" Mordred's adorable words and her curious hands halts the reverie of Altria, lost in her own world. Altria finally regards the child with a smile for the cub alone, admiring the blonde locks now passing her chin, unruly and cutely sticking out in many places, appreciating the baby grin and fondling hands running its course on her cheeks and neck, patting and pulling stands of hair, satisfied on where she is.

"Are you not quite happy by ruining my face with your spit?"

"Cha~!" Mordred squealed at Altria, almost like she understood what is said by her father.

"... I spoiled you too much."

"Uuuuuu,... Wu dada~!"

Altria's eyes are drawn to Mordred- sweet, innocent and naïve, a face which can turn wonders into heaven, tears into merriment- stares back at her; trusting, too loving... and absolute confident that she will be protected in her father's arms.

It is not farfetched; Altria will do everything to keep her safe, to properly feed her and give what the world can offer, desperate to keep her feeling love and accepted.

However, as Altria's smiles fades in the train of concerns, she had come face to face with the warnings of her consequences- the danger she placed herself in- rightly served at the platter with Damocles Dagger hanging in her head, poise to land and pierce her, once and for all. The burden of taking an 'abomination' over the peace of long lasting kingdom is too much- albeit she hides it all, it cripples her to act in the fate's chess and games- a mere puppet to her own destined goals in life, a paradoxical leeway for a better future.

She watched the curious green eyes of the babe tracing the surrounding hill they are in, her stallion Haunt to the side, the stone castle far and with a beautiful garden of wild flowers and green moors delicately embroidered in nature. The king left the guardsmen at the foot of the hill, like little ants in the variety of colors for them both.

She recalled how she was back months before the existence of the babe; cold, unforgiving, inhumane... immortal. She knew she can't change her mind on seeing the bundle as the doom of her reign, a weapon to her demise and the harbinger of death. In fact, she knew that she will blame the child to her misfortune, as it is an object just like Merlin had said, the epitome of her tainted perfection- the dirt that she should eliminate, the wound which she dared to heal.

If there is a timeline, with a same history and a similar character on it, Altria et she will reject the cub, turn her back to her for the betterment of the kingdom, eradicate her origin and a way it might be possible that the babe will grow confined on her witch mother's brainwashing teaching and sought knighthood which will kill them both.

Nevertheless, she changed. She'd grown in more than one category of her life. She grown to like to express her feelings, grown to love the babe, grown to engross in Guinevere's mere presence accelerates Altria's own beating affection and the ever changing softness she apparently shows her subjects.

As she recall the gift Morgana have given for Mordred, a delicate piece of metal made from a dragon's scale, she knew it will do good if her cub pursue a job entirely out of princess nature, it will keenly gave her protection she needs, except the helm which derives ghastly insignia's of curses- a molded spell that can be activated when the user put it on for too long. It sounds pretty convenient, but Altria had no reason to decide fast; it may not be in used at all.

There were times, where a fleeting reminder of what could had happen if she came back the way she came from exist in a blink of an eye, did Altria spared the thought as approving and alluring, mocking her to sheathe the crystal dagger in her waist, heavier for her limbs, calling for the blood of the bundle... But...

"Mordred..." she drawled, garnering the attention of the cub. It reacted to its name, a name she- herself- gifted her bastard.

... Altria could not do it, plunge the cursed dagger in her own blood and flesh. She dare defy her faith, she dare not think of Mordred as a regret but a fortune gifted by God, a babe who have the Pendragon veins, a dirt she shall likely not cleanse in her lifetime and a scar she cannot hide.

Moreover, how could she kill an innocent child who done nothing wrong? Alas, Guinevere will murder Altria if she heard of these blossoming concerns, especially for Mordred's well- being.

"Wah~?"

Mordred took her left thumb in her mouth, awaiting her next words; eyes alight with joy just to be with her presence. Altria turn the child in her arms, now facing Camelot, standing high and mighty to the population circling it all.

"Do you see that, Mordred?" Altria whispered to the child's ear, holding one lithe hand with a pointer finger Mordred raised unconsciously, pointing at the castle. "... That is our home," Altria continues, moving the soft arm to circle the whole visible Camelot, confusing the burbling child. "... And do you see that land? ... That is ours to protect."

"Owa~?" Mordred turns to her, catching one final kissed Altria gave on her cheeks.

"Yes, _darling,_ " Altria nod her head, smiling brighter than the sun up high, eyes turned to Camelot, a promised in mind. "... Camelot's _my_ home, my responsibility, and someday... _It will be yours._ "


	6. Mischief Maker

_Author's Note: Merry Christmas to those who celebrated, a good day or night for those who don't, a good Thanksgiving for some and a round of bows to those who review. Here's a chapter for everyone, may it be a feast for the eyes._

 _The baby Mordred part you see, is kinda... well... baby._

 _ **A special thanks to JurichuZ and Fid99 for the idea in this fiction.**_

* * *

Altria Pendragon had experienced being a father for approximately three solstices. Now, as she put down the necessity preparations on her part of bargain on Mordred's second winter, the satisfied smile she produced gave away her contempt to what tomorrow will bring.

After all, it would be that day she met Mordred in the dreadful castle of her true mother, laid in the most expensive blankets, three years prior. And so, with a banquet feat for her little girl and nobilities which overflows to stay at the castle to adapt in its unusual welcoming doors, she made it wise to stabilize all before a three day long celebration will hold, tournament and festivities included.

Although she gave emphasis to the nobilities and castle, her people will not be left to dust at all. She gave them a free reign of feast to greet their day at the plaza, a wide tent to beckon and protect the food from the chills of winter, where a whole stuff of goods and sweets were to be given to them as a good will from the royal family.

There will be dances learned, tournaments applicant accepted, banner rising and decorations that awaits to be revealed by the world, Altria made sure it would be priceless, astonishing for her babe alone.

She opted to hope for a peaceful day without any compulsion, for a day did not come that her child will not make everything dull... as well as a headache Altria tend to ignore when this thought cross her mind.

 _ **CHAPTER VI: MISCHIEF-MAKER**_

The castle at the center of the Capital are abuzz with Servants on route to their objectives in rush; cleaning, preparing and serving the nobilities on the East Wing with their favored breakfast, and are doing everything with prescription to place the last touch of the celebration to the stone halls and walls.

The windows are decorated with blue curtains, classic and bright, not a single patch of snow unseen much to the irate and determination of sweepers to eradicate the snow for the event which will be held not too long from their work area. It is their duty to make the castle as best as it is, for a feast of celebration will be held at the longest night of the year, anon- in respect to the tradition and the bundle who bears the name Pendragon.

While the guards and knights are unusually calm and happy to passed the year surviving rebellions and bandit feats in different areas of the kingdom, much more so to the diligent servants scurrying in every direction like a headless chicken amok, the Queen of Camelot has a thing or two she needs to deal herself with...

"Mordred, darling!" ... and that is how to capture her wayward daughter, sprinting out of the halls bare footed, weaving and pushing her way at the numerous helpers, trying to outrun her mother.

"Yah ain't cat' hing me, Momma!" the toddler giggles in mischief, fat hands and feet in action, dress in blue clothes like a tiny little prince, trying to outpaced her mother who she splashed with water just like a gardener will do to the flowers in the queen's bedchamber.

"Oh, I shall- Dear God!" Guinevere gasped in concern, her heart leaping in panic as Mordred almost crashed into a trolley, before the cub swivel away clumsy, and her uncoordinated feet saving her grace.

Mordred has been a blessed child, who is able to speak out her thoughts intelligently and a physical body which subpar those on her age. She have a leeway for everything, almost exactly how Guinevere discovered Mordred can stand on her own and walk five days ago- albeit still concerning and uncoordinated until now, it still encage the horror it becomes, as her roll turn into a crawl, a walk and now a run.

Guinevere barely ever rests her heart in panic, as those five days had been a serious challenge to the sanity of the queen. She can still remember how the tot's run had been, almost plummeting down a flight of stairs, giving the queen a heart attack, before her husband prevents it with a reflex faster than sound.

Don't get her started with the other incidents, like the bushes of thorns, the tea set in the kitchen, a dive on a lake- which Guinevere fainted- and the life threatening run of her child into a competing stallions while she and Altria are not looking. It was the events marking how Mordred's action had been taken a great measure of precaution from the guards next to their liege.

Truly, what a cute harbinger of heart disease Mordred have been.

"Cat' me , Mama! Cat' me!" Mordred childishly laughs as she rounds the corner, blonde hair in bun, crawling fast at a Servant's wide spread leg before standing again and continuing in the open area called hall for entertainment. She tried to haul herself faster, for she knew that person is there waiting for her.

"Oh I will catch you alright!" Guinevere responds with a playful threat, grasping the skirt of her royal velvet gown, fitted and embroidered with white roses and insignia of their house.

Mordred, wild and full of energy yells in glee when her mother raise a hand to try and grasp her form, until her father came into view with his loyal knight Lancelot, and Mordred caught this opportunity, to call and raise her arm forward, tackling one leg in joy.

"Dada!"

"...!?" Altria skids backward in pressure, blinking in surprise at the bundle hugging her leg with a wide grin on her face. "Mordred... what is it now?" Altria tried to sound exasperated, but the calm mask breaks again as Guinevere collides in her chest happily, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her alabaster neck.

All went still for the seers, as the King froze on his spot, taking all in his wife's magnificence, until the ball of mischief that is his daughter rebukes again.

"No~! Ain't cat' me!" the baby hurdles, circling the sighing father while the queen achieved her goal as she sprint close to the child.

"I caught you!" Swiping her out the floor, Guinevere and Mordred laugh at their childish antics, twirling together and losing track of anyone who saw the scenery, amused and entertainment dancing on their expression.

"No~! You chea' ed!"

"I certainly did not!" Guinevere mocked to be hurt, poking the sensitive spot which earns her a rumbustious giggles.

"... Are you two done?" Altria pinch the bridge of her nose in exaggeration, pity dancing on Lancelot's eyes as he boldly claims the adorable way the child and mother have lit the room bright. Altria harbor a deep feelings for Guinevere- she really do, but each passing day, the tight and proper queen she wed had been reduce into a very affectionate mother, pampering their child which create problems none could endure for long.

"Indeed we are," Guinevere smooches the child's forehead, eyes shining in mirth to her husband's doubtful terse expression. "... And what of your post, husband?"

Altria looks at her companion- Lancelot- who responds for the King. "The preparations at the capital are accomplished right on time, Your Majesty, the rest of the nobilities and subjects are waiting for your arrival to start the tournament. The horses are ready for your travel, the best of all we have in our stables."

"Wha' we doen'?" little Mordred asked her father, whom gave her an almost affectionate pat on the head.

"We are going to celebrate your birth day anon, starting out the Arena where we will meet our people."

"Ma bi'th da'?"

Altria and Guinevere shared a look, a message within the tip of their gaze, communicating without words. They will make this day treasurable, as much as it is precious to the tradition of their people.

"Hn, ... your birthday." the King turn her face away from the child and the other visible eyes, uncertain how to hide the warm emitting sensation in her cheeks at the innocence of her babe.

"How odd," Guinevere blinks in confusion, after they went at the front bailey, with three horse trainers holding the reigns of three beautiful horses- Altria's stallion 'Haunt', her snow white mare called 'Augusta' and a little pony with an ethereal glimpse of the first snow of winter, barely half of her Augusta's height. "Aren't we commonly riding on a carriage for these events, my love?"

"Hn," Altria nodded in reply, tying the knots of their child's footwear with intensity. "However, I had granted Sir Lancelot's request of boon for our child, given by the faeries themselves."

"And that is?"

"A pony with a magical ancestry, My Queen." Lancelot proudly straightens up his pose, a huge smile on his usually stern face. As he proudly pronounce the things he was trustfully given up, the babe was placed in the said magical little pony's back with care while her parents mounts secured her sides to not let a potential fall to happen.

It would not be the first time Mordred will come out of her confines, such as her confidence to wave and greet the people with ecstatic hands.

They ride slowly, letting little Mordred indulge with squabbling giggles and coo for the pony she named 'Skippy', earning a cough of implication from the guards and citizens who heard the absurd name, except to the two parents- oblivious to the meaning of such word.

They arrived at the Arena, banner raised proudly with their insignia and an immense field of such, hearing the noisy rumbles of the people inside. Mordred takes the surrounding keenly with interest. Looking up at the mountainous structure, she swayed slightly, righting herself as she almost fall, creating an amusing sight who saw the little princess in her little world... until a butterfly caught her short- sighted attention.

She grinned in happiness, following the pretty butterfly with her sight.

Guinevere, who is holding the child's hand accidentally tripped in small debris, instinctively letting the little hand go to tumble in her husband's arms, those long blonde bangs hiding the incredulous raise of the calm King's eyebrows.

"My~ my, what a pleasant place it is within your arms." She teased, purring lightly and caressing her husband's firm but lean biceps, earning a controlled laughs from the watchers who saw and are transfixed to the blossoming awkwardness in the King's façade.

"Wife..." Altria hold her tongue, lest she meet the fate of a love struck wanton unbefitting for her status.

"Ah, forgive me, my love~." Guinevere winks at her husband, dusting herself and awaiting for the guards to lead them inside the Arena.

Altria and Guinevere stand perfectly side to side to step forward in their first celebration with their child. They both held their hands in their between, awaiting those chubby hands to cling to their fingers...

Until a long moment pass and they felt nothing at all. Alarmed, they look down in unison-

Only to find Mordred's previous location void of their babe.

" _MORDRED!"_

* * *

Little Mordred stops at her tracks of following the cute little butterfly in the muddy section she enters. She thought she heard her Mama's cry.

Looking around, she did not recognize the place she is in; must be too distracted to the little butterfly waving its wings and flying to the sky.

"Buttah' flah!" she giggles like a mischievous toddler she is.

Sticking her thumb to her mouth, baby Mordred walks forward in search to the pretty wings again, almost tumbling in her lithe feet but managing to right herself. Again and again, the butterfly leads her into different paths. The noisy rumbles of the Arena her Mama is talking about is decreasing, and the people which she sees looks uglier than the monkeys in the castle with them wearing good dresses that did not fit their faces.

Hairy, untamed and smelly, little Mordred can't help but pout at the stench. Her Mama smells like roses and honey. Her Dada smells like old books and sweet pudding. The knights smell like rusty metals and putrid feet. Her nannies smell sweaty and foamy soaps they used to watch her nappies.

Yet this bad odor, she can't help but pout more as her eyes tears up when the people coo and approached to where she stands. She run and dodges the smelly people, guided by the beautiful butterfly flattering not far.

She run and run in her little feet... until little butterfly suddenly disappeared. She looks around in the tight way she was stranded, eyes wide and questioning. Then, though she realized Mama and Dada are not with her, a small whimper rings on her throat. She strain her ears in a sound she heard in an open window, and she dumbly follows it, trying to search if she can find a semblance of her Mama amidst the dark and old woods she forcefully entered.

The window is high, so she tried to tiptoe and listen closely to the voices inside the dirty home. They were loud and there is a rustling. Someone will yell and sometimes another one will cry. It is continuing again and again, then there's that long sound.

"Mah nana' s kettie?" she asked herself, identifying it just like how her nanny's kettle would produce that high pitch sound other than her screech. Then there was silence, and soft murmurs emerge that she can't quite understand.

"He' oh? Mama, you tha'?" she tried to asked the two persons inside wanting to know if it's her Mama, patting the wood repetitively in impatience. "He' oh? Mama, you tha'?" when she was met with a deafening silence, a surge of... _mischief_ runs along in her head like a horse.

If the person inside ignores her question, so be it- but Mama says everything has its consequences and it's rude to ignore those in need.

Searching for something to catch the insiders off guard, Mordred slowly puts her hands in the muddy soil she is standing; ruining her hands and creating a circle Mama teach her on the first week of snow in winter. Creating two not too heavy muds; she throws it with all her might to the window as her tot's strength would allow, before running with a stomp and a yell of 'meanie!' behind her back, returning to where she came from.

Unfortunately, she did not see the figure which poke his head in the window, mud splattered on his pristine white hair, a deep frown etch in his face.

"That damn brat!" Merlin hissed, annoyed, retreating back to the supple skin of the lady beside his bed.

"Mama?" Mordred looks to another baby who asked, next to the entrance of the narrow street she just went out. She's thinner than Mordred and has boring brown eyes and hair like her nannies. She wears dirty clothes with a dirty ragdoll of a scarecrow in her shabby little limbs.

"Mama. Know whe'e Mama?"

"Ain' no Mama." the babies talk back and forth with a knowledge the others would not understand, but a time had pass and something within the lines of 'noisy', 'Awena' and 'Skippy' escapes its way into the mouths of the two blubbering babies did they walk with the dirty girl leading Mordred out the smelly streets.

They walk and walk with the other people in their scary dirty clothes sneering at the toddlers, before Mordred met one knight running in their direction, catching the attention of the others who went away from the two children, as if bewildered to the things the knight had spoken.

Mordred could not understand it all, it's too fast and incoherent like hers-

"Darling!" – until her Mama's voice pierce through the metals and jeers. She was immediately elevated and hugged by her Mama, crying in her pretty blue dress.

"Mama!" she greet in her joy, ruining the dress of her mother due to her dirty little hands, and kissing the wet tears of the queen.

"Where have you gone to, my baby?" Guinevere breathe Mordred's blonde hair in satisfaction to see her safe, before shakily opening the hands which carelessly smeared her gown. ", And what of this dirt, what have you done, hm?"

"Mud' bahll." Mordred's little companion replied to the queen who went startled by the little girl.

"Mud... ball?"

"Un, mud' bahll," the brown haired girl nodded, like she was saying a deep secret that needs to be hidden. "Th'ow mud' ball in' skippy kettie. Ah see' ehm, skippy kettie."

And the others could not fathom the words to speak, hanging their jaws low as the babies tried to speak.

* * *

Altria slowly breathe through her nose as another round of pompous cheers resounds in her throne. In front of her, drunk as cats in a heat season, are the nobilities and knights who underwent a knighthood in her hands upon the instruction of Pendragon Codex for the Solstice event.

She tried to remain calm in the indecent wasp of language hanging off in their mouths about women and their role as baby makers for their Johnsons, for she detest being insulted as for who she is.. especially if those naught words placate the genuine quirk of lips in her queen's face into a force and thin smile.

They have remain sober and responsible, sitting still and mighty in their throne, a new experience to the disguised King who dwells into the bliss of the flame of alcohol scorching her nerves whilst it ease her adrenaline after many wars and court rebellions she had faced. She had never been peeved to be unaware of what she is doing when taking a toast, but she will let this moment rest her mind in peace.

For they- not as a King and Queen- but a father and mother- have a responsibility to uphold to their daughter. And the said daughter which they longed to be with instead to be entertain by a bunch of hooligans parading what little meat they have in their between.

Altria drew another sigh, this one with a subtle action to hold her wife's hand on Guinevere's lap, clench in worry- as well the continuous gleam of the sun orbs. The queen snapped back her hands away from the king, certainly angry to what she done.

She could not dwell much to the tight and unbearable emotion the sudden absence of her daughter had brought in her heart; she let her wife searched for their babe while she methodically spur the tournament with a speech so cold it sends shivers to those who is near. Already accomplishing her deed and painstakingly shrugging of nobles begging on her feet, she was replaced by her past self again; unforgiving, cold... monster... perfect. Perfect not as a ruler of Camelot, but a perfect way to deduced how a father would feel if his child was doom to be taken in your cocoon.

She searched everywhere and anywhere with her strength and speed, almost rummaging the hidden passages of Camelot, before she saw her wife with their cub, telling her of the child's whereabouts- to the red street of prostitution and carnal desire. She felt angry, worried, happy, confused- grateful, but she let it aside with a swift of her mask.

But it doesn't end there; Mordred's mischief. They have cleansed her, Mordred and Guinevere with a new clothes to wear and a tight security to not let even a second pass without looking at their princess, but she outsmart them yet again, now in a form of a cheer, messing things with the nobilities close to them, splashing drinks and throwing unwanted food to the snappy old men. The humiliation it wrought, and the shame it brings into her name. Altria let it slide, as well as the queen.

The child is more dangerous than they think, sneaking quite surprisingly at the center of the commoners, parading as one of them like some kind of a lowborn- as her counselors said. She let it slide too, for Mordred is not at fault. Her two year old cub will not do things that will make it spectacularly known.

Then the tournament had been cancelled due to Mordred's doing; opening the horses stables, lighting the son of the counselors, ruining the flow of the competitors, shuffling the banners and what's more- she have been given a moniker _worse_ than Merlin. Altria tried to disagree and come up with a more logical reasoning that it is impossible for a child to create a ruckus as much as this.

However, she's always been on the scene. _Mordred_ is always the only one seen.

And the disappointment it was to prove her wrong. Her child had given her the most innocent and outrageous look of all, the babe stick up to her, garnered her attention and... and she almost look like a _leech_ the King hated about her witch sister. Altria felt the bitterness, and then- and _then!-_ she raise a hand to her for the first time.

She raised a hand to her little daughter. A two year old child.

 _The bastard of mine._ Altria morosely thought, remembering those tear streaking eyes, the whimper Mordred produced when she was _slapped_ by her father.

And Altria could not help but be miserable. Guinevere is there, frozen and engulfed in anger, but Altria cease her by a cold command, an order greater than her status as a queen and they sent the crying baby back into the castle, locked up in her own room- ordered by Altria herself.

Now, as she mule and reflect back to what she did, comes the grave realization of what she forgotten.

Mordred's birthday.

And the King innately clenched her insides to bleed, berate her mind for overreacting... and killing her wretch heart with guilt.

"Your Majesty?" Bedivere called as his liege abruptly stands in his position, face hidden on view. The king left without a word and the queen bristled in her seat, deciding to follow the blonde after she professes to adjourn the celebration for the day after.

Altria walked briskly, ignoring the salutes and bow in favor to collecting her thoughts. The torches and lamps gives the earie coldness seeping in her eyes a shadow for the observers to mind their manners, as the king raise a hand to order them to leave the vicinity, hence they all did like their life depended on it.

Altria sighs for the third time, opening the door to Mordred's chamber and entering it with a flourish. What she see breaks her heart.

There's no light, not even a shade of star to twinkle in the sky. Like Altria had completely set her cub in annihilation- isolation in a very day she was born.

She felt sick, she felt responsible to what this gnawing corruption is, and so she carefully set alight in the chimney and candles, alighting the room.

If the darkness have made her heart broken, what is more to see her cub completely pressed at the farthest side of the wall, pushing herself against it in fear, eyes brimming with tears and small whimpers of pain still hangs in the air? Altria swallowed her grief and walk closely to her cub, which grew more afraid, and starts weeping in her folded knees.

The king pulled the cub in her arms, restless and afraid _of her_. She nestled Mordred on her lap and gently pry the arguing limbs, the green eyes flowing with the stench of scream for someone to help- to get her away from Altria's embrace. With the dim light, she can still see the redness and swell which turns into a very angry shade of green and violet on her cub's cheek, the cause of her gauntlet clad hand. She did not sent a servant to tend the wound, and now it paid its price, a marred touch of what should not been there if she just keep her calm align with her mind.

"Mordred, it is I." Altria tried to sound fatherly.

"..."

"Child, do you want something you would like me to fetch?"

"..."

"Child, what is it that you need?"

"... wha's Mama?"

Her vision blurs without knowing and finally, the itching bile in her nose and throat is back again. Altria blinks away the confusing reaction, but then again, it stopped the child from whimpering, staring at her in fearful wonder.

"...Mo-" Altria tried to speak, yet her throats blocking her voice to say her daughter's name. She tried again, but the sensations redoubled and her muscles and breathing became ragged and twitching. "Do... d- do you want your mother instead of I?"

"... Ah... Ah wah' Mama."

The confession cripples her more than she was stupefied for her life on battle.

Mordred, terrified but definitely curious, pushed a shaking hand on her face.

And Altria knew, she's crying without stopping. A sob escape her lips, a whimper and a flow of dam breaks away. Altria loudly cried in her child's front, hugging Mordred, kissing her face over and over again. Apologizing... asking for forgiveness repetitively without consent.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." there's so many things Altria wanted to apologized, yet it would not be enough to pay the horrible thing and insult she gave to her flesh and blood. She wanted this day to be wonderful, so full of life... and yet... she created a delirious mistake of blaming her child.

She's the worst father.

The worst husband.

The worst of all-

"Dada..." Mordred halts her depressing thoughts. The child is drying her tears away, bravely encompassing her deep terror to her father just to console Altria with her word.

"I'm sowwy~." The child pats her cheeks lightly, clumsily cleaning her face. "Mowded bad, Mowded sowwy Dada."

... How can she resist not crying again? After all she done, after all the negative feedbacks her actions accursed Mordred, the child blame herself for what she did herself.

"Mordred..." the King sulked, lightly tracing the abomination of a thing she imprints to the beauty of her daughter. A present she had given Mordred. _A first cursed present for her birthday._ The voice in her head sneers in tandem.

But the bundle gave her so much more, a present none can replicate.

 _Trust._

 _Love._

 _Forgiveness._

 _Chance._

So Altria vowed to her child, tenderly kissing the swelling cheeks and _vowed with all her heart_ , because when she no longer are able to change a situation, Altria are challenged to change herself, change her ways and change her fate. Some says there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter, and Altria can proved it, with all her flaws bare in her little girl's eyes.

"I may be a bad father for you, making you tear up in the day of your birth. I might have been the worst scum on earth. I might have given you the world. I might have given you my throne," Altria smiled sadly, a tear falling down her loving eyes to her child's cheek. "... but if I willed it be, _I will give you my life_ , I will turn back time and change my mistake, make you my most wonderful girl and change my ways. For every tears you shed, is a fresh wound to my heart. My _daughter... forgive me, if_ _ **all I can give you is my love.**_ _"_


	7. Spikes Of Uncertainty (I)

_Author's Note: Happy New Year, guys. May the year starts with your limbs still intact._

' _Gonna reply to some reviews, 'cause I feel bad for not messaging you or I'm just confused of what you said._

 _ **Zeno kami no mu:**_ _Thank you, here's another chapter for you._

 _ **Fid99**_ _: Yup- yup~ Hope you will continue helping me with this one._

 _ **Zoomer:**_ _'Old switcharoo'? What do you mean by that?_

 _ **Shirosakurai:**_ _Well... thank you for the compliment?_

 _ **ffure21:**_ _Hello, thanks for supporting this story and don't worry; I'll post as best as I can. I don't actually understand how you teared up though, I'm not good at sad types, I think?_

 _ **dgMax:**_ _Hey, thank you for giving me an idea (it will certainly happen) and I hope you enjoyed this one 'cause there's lack of moments between Mordred and Arturia in Nasuverse._

 _ **Zenozen:**_ _Yo, he really deserved that alright._

 _ **Sha Yurigami**_ _on chapter_ _ **5**_ _: I'm sorry but... what 'Lion King preference?' O_O ?_

 _ **Picture Altria and Mordred like the cover image to the last part, will you?**_

* * *

 _Mama and Dada lied._

 _They said they'd loved her no matter what._

 _They said that even the baby in her Mama's tummy grows; they would always give her everything she wants._

 _They made her believe, and believed- she did. She trusted her Mama and Dada, so she believed in everything they promised._

 _They said they will not abandon her- that she would always be their most precious daughter. She believed whole- heartedly, and she foolishly awaits the little baby in Mama's tummy with passion, basked in knowledge that the baby will not take anything from her._

 _Mama said the baby is a blessing._

 _Dada said the baby is innocent as she is..._

 _But they lied._

 _They lied that they will not replace her. They deceive her that she will always be loved forever._

 _The baby- Lucas, have taken everything away from her- have grasp all their love in his tiny little fingers._

 _Lucas takes away her Mama, who did not bath a single glance to see if she's alright. Lucas takes the interest of the knights, whom gave him their oath and promises of security, contradicting to the things she received with angry spite. Lucas gripped the people's hearts, which they gave without remorse and with full anticipation to the Prince they have witness firsthand._

 _And Lucas... baby Lucas takes away her Dada, who gave him the attention, the love, the affection... everything that is rightfully hers- blown away by his smile and giggles._

 _She tried everything with all her might, to take back what she had. However, with every step she took, the larger the gap it seems to unfold within their distance and sight. All is nigh impossible, as the opposite was always the outcome._

 _Mama would berate her if she ever touched a single strand of Lucas' hair. The knights would give her the disappointed look before they leave so she can pick herself up again._

 _And Dada... Dada will turn his back after she was given a slap, a disinterested look and a word she cannot rightfully understand. Dada will dismiss her like his servants on duty, will give nothing but silence and regret for saving her to the bad witch. Dada will call her a leech, like a tiny itch he wanted to get rid of once he is able._

 _She is lonely, alone and afraid, as one by one they went farther and farther away._

 _She tried reaching out to Mama, but her little hands was shoved downward as Lucas was smothered with her warm embrace and her favorite lullabies. She tried reaching for Dada... but she was not even acknowledged, blown away by a swept of his hands._

 _She can picture herself, alone with her little princess ragdoll as Mama and Dada walks away with Lucas in their between, laughing merrily... like the most perfect family._

"Mama... Dada..." Mordred whimpers in her sleep, clutching the cold blankets in the dark room, searching for her parent's warm. Yet again, it seems reality is also cruel...

... As a single tear dropped and the darkness consumes her whimpers.

 _ **CHAPTER VII: SPIKES OF UNCERTAINTY (I)**_

"I bid you good night, husband. I shall retire for tonight." Guinevere uttered, kissing the King on her cheek with a flourish.

"... S- sweet dreams may await you." Altria tersely responds, walking her wife out of the King's study room before giving Guinevere a simple kiss on her temple to accommodate Altria's tall frame. Having her daily dose of awkward moments with Altria, Guinevere walks off with her aides away from the cold and royal room.

She bid the guards farewell and ushered the servants out of their duties in exchange for a long due rest she deprived them by taking care of her whims to the proposed requirements piled after the Solstice Festival.

Overwhelmed by the left over paperwork and statements that must be distributed with an approval of the royalties, Guinevere was left to walk on her own in the middle of the night- guided by the lit torches as she walk towards the Queen and King's bedchamber.

While Mordred's birthday have ward an uncomfortable atmosphere between her and her husband, what she saw in her child's room that night had disseminate her uncontrollable rage to Altria. Moreover, while Altria tried to apologize on making her feel so unneeded by giving Guinevere the utmost attention of her desires, Guinevere was left to hide the warm effect of such concern- blowing off remnants of ember into cold stone.

However, tried as she might to overcome her understanding and appreciate Altria's efforts to seek forgiveness in subtle way possible; the damaged was done. And it keeps getting worse as days passed with Mordred hinting off her sudden aloofness and change in character when it comes to her husband.

After the incident with the unconditional shame it gave the child from the public, Mordred never once leave her room unsupervised. Mordred has change into an energetic bundle into a fearful babe, hiding in corners, flinching to any sort of contract and she refused to speak up her mind. She's too scared to try again after she wailed at her father which results to the pulsing wound on her cheek.

Guinevere have come to terms that her child is still traumatize by her unfathomable punishment, which she tends with care and soft coziness to eradicate the deep emotions plaguing her child to cease neglecting her adorable antics. However, she did not measure how deep the fear had made its way to Mordred's heart, as the tot have avoid any semblance of her father's trial to bring back their closeness the way it once.

Guinevere and Altria had tried to return the loveable child to its innocence, yet the mere presence of the father seems to block the path of her return.

Mordred will tremble, cry herself in front of the indifferent green orbs while frozen on the spot, silent as a mute, avoiding the orbs with her wild ones- as if searching for an escape route to avoid her father. Most recent cases, Mordred would always hide in her mother's back, sniffing and making herself small while her father willed it be to stand close to them.

Day in and out, Guinevere have tried to be the bridge of their past interactions, but forcing the child could garner a different reaction.

With that in her mind, she reached the bedchamber somber and tired. Her duties and the problem tearing her loved ones increase the pressure of the realm of unconsciousness on her eyelids- revoking her of a proper mindset to see the uneasy feeling she had until she made it at the foot of the bed, undressing herself.

She dutifully change quickly, to ward off the winter breeze... then it struck the queen like a storm, gasping in astonishment as a whimper breaks out her rebellious sense to the world. Alarmed and concerned, she realized the darkness enveloping the chamber, making it more sinister and uncharacteristically inviting of such howling songs of the wind. However, none mattered to the queen as another set of sniffles reach her ears.

"Dear one?" in haste to find her baby, the queen willed to set a single candle to flame in the bed stand to brighten the room with its dim light. What she sees is astonishing and downright heartbreaking, as her baby is sleeping with tear stains in her rosy cheeks, her cowering body curled in the middle of the bed, arms wrapped securely like a lonesome cub in the dark wilderness of the chamber.

"Oh, love." Guinevere could not suppress her melodic voice, as she settled the babe in her arms, tears still flowing in her puffy eyes. Sadness forms in the queen's bosom, self-berating her actions to leave her child alone at such cold hours at night. _Is she crying all this time?_ Guinevere wonders, tucking Mordred at the crook of her arm.

She smiled sadly; she had failed her child to prevent tasting the wrath of reality, and now- as she gaze at the whimpering expressions of her dear child, which she realized she had failed yet again in the realm of dreams.

"Such a lovely face must not dwell in pain." She murmurs to herself, kissing her child's nose before situating Mordred in her bosom, covering her to the cold room.

She dried the track stains with her thumb, hushing songs to lull the child awake in the reason of her tears. Alas, Mordred's reaction is not what she expects as the orbs opens in its nightmare.

"Mama liah!" the blonde babe cries out in dismay, extracting herself to the warm embrace; the tears doubling its course. "Mama liah! Mama liah!" the cub cried again and again, immobilizing the queen in the deafening pain the chipped voice is executing.

"Mordred?" Guinevere- confused and distraught- reached one hand to her baby's face, yet she it is batted away with a wild gesture Mordred portrays as she backs away from her mother.

"Mowded shad! Mama leav' Mowded! Mama no' lov' Mowded!" with every painful babblings Mordred did, the deeper and hurtful it pierce the queen's heart like a twisting blade. Guinevere remains there stupefied, as the baby rambles and bawled her fears and words that creates a scar in Guinevere's confidence to stop the cub. But the words struck home to its base, and the mother is unprepared, lashed by the words of a bundle securing the doubt in place.

She can't speak, she can't comfort the babe; Guinevere is scared to try as a nauseating feeling envelops her chest, making it harder to breathe and respond with her usual words of security.

"Yah left' Mowded!" the baby wailed, eyes brimming in complete emotions from her dream. Guinevere held her breathe, as the child's eyes speak of a never ending loneliness within. "Yah... Yah'... l- left Mowded... Mama dawn' t lov' meh'! No one' lov' me'!" she sobs her tears, bawling her fist close to her eyes- keeping her uncertainties within.

The queen, bottled up with her own fears, exhale the deep painful welt of breathe she was holding. "O... O- Of course I love you!" she tried to laugh the sorrow, but her voice quivered and her own tears fall. The pain- her _maternal_ instinct is screaming, connecting her soul to her child. The hollowness... the cries different from the past ones... it made the _queen_ frozen on her spot.

Mordred shrieks that the queen left her... or that she did not love the child. Guinevere could not describe the scorching bile of her own sobs- the ingestion of such words, it _burn_ her insides. Never had she experience the excruciating blame of her parenting. Is this the feelings Altria felt that night with their child?

The doubt that resurfaced?

The guilt of her abandonment?

The pain of her claims?

"Come here, child. Let Mama take care of you." She consoled, arms trembling- stretching out for the cub.

"Yah' hate' meh!"

"I would never hate you, love."

"Yah' leahve meh!"

"I've nev-"

"Wit' babhy Lu'as! Mama's babhy! Yah leahve meh!" and with that, the queen's world stopped. _Baby_ _Lucas?_

"Mama hav' babhy Lu'as! Mama do't lov' me! Mama lov' babhy!" Mordred sniffs, beating her head repeatedly with her tiny hands. "Mowded shad... Mama... Dada... no'bahdy lov' meh.."

"No... no~..." Guinevere croaked out, swiping the struggling blonde in her arms, weeping on her own. Mordred flail and whine, but she never let go. "I truly love you, my love. I really do..."

Mordred's dream, it's not derived from her traumatic experience with the King, but more so of the things that 'should' have been, if she have never entered their life. With the vigorous statements hitting home, Guinevere could not help but reflect back if it will happen such. The insecurities... the lonely explanation... it made the queen think... _is Mordred truly just a replacement to the child she could not have?_

 _No._ Guinevere shakes her head in incredulity. She knew not of her ability to bore an heir successfully- since her chastity is still intact-, mayhap, there will be a time that she will elope with her husband, yet Mordred knew nothing that her father is not a man. There is a chance in magic, yes, but once her baby Mordred had appeared in her life, the need to create another babe was left behind due to her never ending sacrifice for her the crying child.

Yet... Mordred knew none of these too; as she is so wallowed in her sadness and the lack of assurance in her and Altria's part about their future.

And with that vomiting thought, Guinevere wept more- ushering her real love to the bundle, kissing the negative mindset out in her baby's thoughts.

"I love you, never forget that dear one. Different times might say the opposite, yet my promise speaks true."

"Bahby Lu'as-"

"- Is not true," the mother cuts in, longingly looking at the sadden orbs of her estranged child. She grasped the clenched fist of Mordred, kissing each one with love. "I merely have one daughter... and that is _you._ "

Mordred whines in response.

"Don't you believe me?" Guinevere soothes, taming Mordred's wild tresses, framing the small face with her soft palm. "What can I do for you to agree with Mama, hm?"

"...Dada." the baby said at last after a long pause between them. The tot's hysteric antic subsides, replaced by tranquility verifying that everything is just a dream.

"What of Dada?" Guinevere cooed, brushing the sweaty forehead with care.

"... Mowded wah' Dada. Do Dada lov' baby Mowded?"

"... I do." Bewildered, the mother and child looks at the newcomer with wide eyes. It's the scene Altria behold when she came that night, with the two scarred souls mending each other, crying and in their own world. She tried to hold back the tears of her own musing, hearing her cub's cries even from her secluded study room.

And the King hoped that she can eradicate the hurting words her babe mentioned with her own, as she strides with conviction, smothering her family with a surprising embrace from the father.

"... _I love you..._ From the day I met you until the grave I will lay upon _._ " She emphasized, bathing her family with her might... eliminating all insecurities...

Giving all her love... chasing away their fears.

But staying here, cooped up in a chamber that even the cold can penetrate; a new idea have shove it's way in Altria's mind, ceasing a small fragment of her mind.

Perhaps, her full day of rest tomorrow is required.

* * *

"Altria, are you sure this is wise?"

"... What is?"

"To sneak around like a burglar at wee hours of dawn. I do know you knew how this absence will entail the knights in the castle."

"Let them. I do need some gap between my duties as king, father and a husband."

"Have I remind you that you're the same person who went with your life uncaring for our celebrations as a wedded women for a decade? Unless I am in a dream and the... _mischievous_ Altria of the past has return."

"There is a saying that 'some things change and a few are buried to resurrect again', Guinevere. Things change with drastic measures... and my shameful acts as a child were to be unsaid; understood?"

"Truly? Or you mock me?" the queen jest at her husband, covering her bosom with a thick maroon robe where a squirming Mordred is resting. Her breathe appears as small puffs in the air, mixing into the cold breeze of their escape as they silently went into the right bailey facing their bedchamber, entering a secret passage down the belfry to go into the forest close to the castle with little to none warning of the guards on where will they go.

Undisturbed into the white and biting chill of the winter due to her proximity to her husband, the queen indulge at the serenity of silence engulfing the silent crunch of their clothed feet with soft particles descending above.

Hand in hand, the king wearing her royal battle armor led her wife into one awaiting Haunt roped closed into a huge oak tree. Baskets and sword at the other hand, she gave Haunt a single blow on his snout before discarding the items at his side saddle, silently ignoring her wife's inquiry.

Without knowing Altria's motive, Guinevere could only sigh as she silently bid her task of unfolding her little blonde to the cold world. It is a surprise to be here with Altria, just like then when they are still young and naïve. Yet, the sweet thought that her Altria will bend rules on her own to have a 'family' time with them is heartwarming, bringing a little smile in her pretty face. Oh, add their little escapade in their terrace and the cat and mouse play they done to avoid the wandering guards at the yard.

It seems like it was back at the old day again; with a little addition to their enjoyment of course.

"Muuu... Mwah!" Mordred huff when her head popped out in the chill, looking at everything curiously before her eyes have set into the object her father is holding, polished and uncharacteristically beautiful.

"Gwen, don this armor to Mordred." Altria said neutrally, giving none of her emotions as the wife looks at the gift of the _witch_ in her hands.

"Altria..." Guinevere faltered, unsure at the glinting steel. Unaware to her parents contradicting views to the sweet shine of armor like those Knights at the castle, Mordred reach out in earnest, a glimmer of inquisitiveness in her eyes.

"At ease, Gwen..." Altria sighs, gently pushing forward the armor in her child's hands. "...It is craft in dragon's scale, fit to encase the warm into the wearer's form. It is valuable, for it might prevent out child from any illness this... time may bring."

"But-!" the mother protested, but as she sees the expectant look of both her loveable girls, she relents with a small chuckle at their cuteness. "Oh, alright."

"Oooh~, shainy!" Mordred giggles as her mother slowly dress her up with the shiny objects while she remain still in her father's arms. After the quite incident in the bedchamber at night, the child had completely forgotten her concerns with her parents around. Altria stand in her claims that it is a blessing, yet she will grasp this opportunity to spoil the child more.

Truly, what a scary thought it was to be wrapped in her baby's whims.

"Done, dear~." Guinevere proclaims, laughing maturely as Mordred wiggles in her father's waist. The child's hair was unruly and was left tied due to her natural style, while her eyes and canine teeth protrudes cutely that enhance her charm. "You look dashing, darling."

"Mowded's goowd!" the child proudly harrumphed, until Altria's Haunt nipped a small part of her armor, making the baby gasped in sheer horror, wagging her gauntlet hand and pushing Haunt in his snout for good measure. "Nooo~! Yah ru'n mah shainy mamour!"

Altria chuckled, so thus her queen. "Haunt, stand still." she orders, and the horse complies willingly, extracting his snout in the tot's hand.

"Come, Gwen..." she continued, pushing the baby in the saddle before hopping on her own. She offered one hand to her wife, smiling shyly as her queen went rosy at her majestic appearance. "... Let us meet the sun's rays on _our_ jovial resting place."

"You mean-!" Guinevere gasped in happiness, eyes twinkling in realization.

"Yes, love... must you truly hope that I will forget the place where we met?" And with those words out in the open, the queen waste no time further, mounting Haunt and embracing her loved ones at the breeze of the early zenith of the rays.

Meanwhile, as the family went unannounced, thus the chaos ensues at the hearts of their knights.

There's a daily occurrence of missing person enveloping the shadowy parts of Camelot that bears little reasons to garner the knights attention.

However, as the sun creep up in the middle of the gray sky and no sign of any royal family in sight, different measures and attentions were gathered to deteriorate possible outrageous outcomes. Sending hidden messages and orders of mass searching, the kingdom is blissfully unaware of the lingering nervousness of those inside the castle...

All but one indifferent wizard, which is rudely roused in his room, clad in nothing but his confidence to his perverse body.

"This is madness!" Merlin howled in anger, spluttering water out in his system as Sir Gawain tossed a bucket of cold water in his everlasting nudity.. "Damnation, mate! What is wrong with you imbeciles!?" he continued, steeping out of his bed to garb a thick robe in his messy table, shivering in cold.

"I require assistance, wizard." Gawain states, gaze steel as the ice outside the castle. "It has been identified that His Majesty, Her Highness and Lady Mordred are missing in their chambers. We would like your support of searching for the royalties as discreetly as possible to prevent arousing commotions to the public."

"Naïve runts! Have the thought that they like some privacy graze your useless brain!?" the ever joyful mischievous wizard fumed in irritation, no doubt avoiding their aggressive way of persuading him to cooperate, bathed in frustration to be handled so low as a slave by the confident knights.

Gawain furrowed his brow, his insistent grating the wizard's innards. "I insist we search of their location. Their lives matters more than the entire kingdom's gold."

"Does the others knew?" the wizard snapped.

"The knights of the round agreed upon that His Highness are not to be underestimated of his skills to protect his family if they are opted to be together, but I refuse to sit idle when my liege is concern."

"Then your trust for your king is lacking, you curly headed knight! Must I remind you His Highness is the feared Lion King you admired all this time!?"

"My adoration has nothing to do with my duty as their knight!"

"Good God you insufferable dimwit!" Merlin put his hands in the air in exaggeration, blatantly berating off his refusal until their arguments echoes even at the tiniest creek of the castle.


	8. Little Knight

_Hush, child_

 _The darkness will rise from the deep_

Ever since she was a tot hiding beneath her father's coat and her mother's skirt, she knew of the harsh environment she is born. She knew of the scrabbles, the whisper behind her back, the ungrateful deception the others carried before her, especially the Knight who protected her beautiful father. She was shunned, unfit and cornered, between her uncertainties to things of her home and the love to her own kingdom- she know not of the right actions to produce. No person to resign to. No friend to rely to, but, of the promises of her parents who are bind to their obligation, making changes for her to view.

 _And carry you down into sleep_

 _Child, the darkness will rise from the deep_

 _And carry you down into sleep_

However, the changes that happened, made any possible friendship to turn into a cold childish wish for her, as the subjects grew farther and reluctant, opportunities reduced to nothing- friends and foe winded and mute.

She grew lonely, and done deeds to attract attentions- actions both bothersome and incredulous, mostly for the spur of entertainment- to fill the hole of her sadness for a companion to walk side to side with. However, with all there is, she was met with scorn, ungrateful hisses at her improper manner of a princess, leaving her no goal accomplished, mission eradicated.

 _Guileless Son, I'll shape your belief_

 _And you'll always know that your father's a thief_

 _Unacceptable,_ she thought, devastated, stroking her grown ego. She grew more livid, unshakeable, and free of her ambition. She's that of a dark sheep to others, yet, her love to her parents grew much deeper than her anger, that only the mother she was born and the father she was from can subdue her, ease her worries, and pampered her with everything. She was tamed in their touch, silence by their warm…. Until it happens.

A phantom voice appeared within her everything; singing, advising….. befriending her…. Caring her with melodic voices unknown of source. At first, she was frightened, that the voice needs of its existence in secrecy to anyone, in which it pleads.

 _And you won't understand the cause of your grief_

 _But you'll always follow the voices beneath_ _  
_

She had restrained her doubt, and being a curious child she is, drawn much near, following the voices, making her believe.

 _Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, loyalty_

 _Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, only to me_

The phantom- in which she called a friend- has no name, no gender, no form. But she knew _she_ was there with her all the time, watching her and guiding her to safety, blessing her with her protection; away from harm.

Mordred- as what she was called- is a child full of dreams…. Nightmares….. Premonitions of the undead. Yet, her friend shush her, lull her in a dreamless sleep at night with a lullaby made to her alone- created by the phantom. It draws her, calms her. Lightens up her head.

 _Guileless Son, your spirit will hate her_

 _The flower who carried my brother the traitor_

 _And you will expose his puppet behaviour_

 _For you are the proof of how we betrayed her_

In which the friend spoke, she obliges with undivided trust and genuine cherishment of her silent presence. And for there is to it, she have been a bad child to her own mother; hiding secrets only her own heart can hold and endure. She did and done actions instructed by the voice, slowly and surely; _fun_ has become _normal_ interaction to her and the others, where she fears nothing of the gossips and misleading gushes of her odd manner; if only because of the phantom's promise of never ending connection. She needs not more.

 _Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, loyalty_

 _Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, only to me_

Loyalty. Loyalty. What is loyalty? She is in the dark of the meaning of the words, repeated over and over again by the voice. Childishness will prevail, and the decisions of the friend may be absolute….. but its hypnotizing to even think about, let alone asked to the father she loved.

 _Hush, child_

 _The darkness will rise from the deep_

 _And carry you down into sleep_

 _Child, the darkness will rise from the deep_

 _And carry you down into sleep…._ _  
_

And so, as she was there sitting at the dark clad in the armour she adores - the arm of her father in her waist, with her head in the King's shoulder, the lullabies continues… ignoring the dark wisp of due which Altria eyed in suspicion.

 _ **CHAPTER VIII: LITTLE KNIGHT**_

It's mesmerizing, how magic conjures barrier between real and illusion to hide things out of caution. It swindle lies to keep truths, envision thoughts made from the mind of humans- and claim right to what is wrong.

In a morning bathed with dew of dawn, stood the person blessed by its merits, her immaculate chest bare to the biting breeze and trousers loose enough to accommodate her stance of focus, apparelled to the duty she performs. However, if that of a woman's face are masked in her lovely expression, is the irony of her harden bosom, of that of a man.

Altria too, is piqued and grateful for its benefits, as she train unbound by clothe into the grassy ground at the meadow close to the back entrance of her castle, brandishing her skills and arms tense to drew Excalibur after her dance with Rhongomyniad.

One.

Two.

Three.

Her…. No,- _his_ sweat drips down to the cold earth, joining its brothers who fell at the same reason.

At present, Altria takes the role of a chiselled man, just how her people expected her- a man of _his_ title. Arthur Pendragon.

He stood proud and handsome, eyes drawn hardened by his concentration, inevitably succumbed into his own reasons. He raise his trusted sword, and thrust his mighty arms, creating another cycle of dance, bewitching and grand.

Half an hour passed yet he did not falter in his steps. Altria moved and swivelled to the rhythm of the biting chill. He swing, skid and slash.

More drops fall, and he acknowledge nothing…

"Hngh!" …. But of a clumsy huff and scuffle of lithe feet a short distance.

He stopped, listened, and chuckled- looking at his precious little girl at last. There, in her own little world, his seven- year- old daughter mimic actions undoubtedly similar to a new born pup at the world of swords.

He smiled at her resilience, the promised of company he never garnered, but is given willingly from his beautiful cub. Mordred breathes hard, swings shamelessly and mad at her own determination to hear the sound of metal cutting wind within her short wooden sword. _Ah, the naivety._

Left and right. Up and down. Side to side. And the repetition happens again and again. Altria watches her, longer and absolute, before his mask cracked in fondness, the child'spout is that hard of a burden to not set aflame of love within him. Mordred withered and leaves her sword, hands flail, running down her brown trousers up to her thin sleeves, then- the whining begins.

"Why can't I be like you, Dada!?" she wails, arms up in the air, defeated.

"… You have your own person, why must you replicate what I am?" he questioned, entering Excalibur in its sheathe. As much as he loved spending time with his cub, her inquiries are what made him halt in his tracks. He is not cunning like his wife; he knew not to turn the tables when it comes to the babe. "If ever, you will be the ruler of our land, you must not turn your head behind and do the honours of creating a path of what is right. Repeating and stepping afoot of my sword steps are not necessarily logical, for you have no body as I that can create force you wanted."

The child blinks bewilderedly, frowning as her tongue roll on its own, "Repla- what? Hormor? Necessawah? Dada, what are those?"

Altria bits his inner cheek. This is what he predicted. "When the time comes, you will learn." He finalized, skipping out from the hole he dug underneath his situation.

"But when will I learn?" the child protested.

"When you are prepared to commit yourself in the teachings of the elders."

"What for?"

"For you to become a proper king." Altria said, offhandedly until-

"But I don't want to be king!" his cub again, protested with her feet stomping down the earth, unknown to the frozen stance of her father. "It's boring and full of sitting down your squeaky chair all day! I want to be a knight, like Dada outside with Hunt and banners and knights in armour!"

"…. Don't you want to be like I before?" Altria backpedalled, kneeling in his child's eye level. "Don't you want to be a king?"

"I want to be like Dada, but not your title, _duh._ " The tot explains, puffing out her cheeks. Altria's thoughts jumbled at the revelation, taking no attempt to brainstorm unless he is in the presence of his wife. They have so much things to talk to, so little time; the child's growing fast, they must do an action to this…. Uninterested heiress.

"Are you through? You must make haste before your mother rise." He continues, thoughts hidden, whispering quite like and regal at the same time.

Mordred rebelled, sprawling at the wet grass, face first and adamant. "Am not going back without you, I told yah many times!"

"And I said in equal number that it would not be the case. Your mother might perceive this conduct disapproving, cub. Children are not supposed to be roused at this hour of dawn, especially you." Altria warned, but the thought of his child, asking to accompany him, right in the middle of the night, warms his voice of that appease wild.

However….

"Why would she be mad, Dada?" … his child blinks innocently, before an atrocious mockery of smile broke in her precious little face. "… I told Mama you requested for my presence in your training, what is there for her to blame me, when I hold the fault to you?"

…. His little girl. Good gracious, what does Altria deserved to have a cunning and angelic face of a mischievous toddler? It's him to blame for loving her dearly without remorse.

It has to be. If not… well…

 _May the Lord guide my safety,_ Altria thought, swiping his giggling tot from the ground, pressing her tightly close to his sweaty front.

"Oh, Dada…" Mordred cackles, seeing an enrage queen in the distance. "… If only you are a woman, Mama will forgive you easily."

But Altria have none of those response worthy of a king. He process what his child said, and swallowed down the bile.

* * *

She's spellbound on her task, committing to memory that this is her only chance of doing the impossible and making it right.

One. She unwind her little arms, engrave by the responsibility of the limbs in a task.

Two. She stick her tongue out in concentration, eyes frowning in contemplation.

Three. She counts in serenity, mouth puffing small numbers of her finality.

She takes a breath and exhales with quiver, softly… _so gently,_ she stretch her small hands silently, goal near and conq-

"Oh, love…" Guinevere laughs, looking at her little one in the reflection, sitting with her little hands buried in her own white locks. "… What takes you so long to braid my hair?"

"Shh! I'm focusing!" Mordred hushes, before another strand slips away from her fingertips, down to the matted ribbons in her blue dress. "Mamaaaaa!" she cries out, gripping the braided hair tight as her mother shakes in gaiety. "HALT!"

"But I am famished, my love," the queen jest, caressing her slim waist. "We've been stone cold for hours, are you not starving for a quite banquet with your father?"

"But I must finish this!" Mordred argued lamely, "A Knight will not back down from a challenge! This is my oath, I swear!" she nods in affirmation, continuing her duties of a braid- maid.

Guinevere sits still and patient, conquered by her thoughts of the babe taking interest in the path of swords. She foretold of this heartfelt loyalty. She knew of the fondness of the little blonde to the knights and unbeatable army of steel.

Mordred is a lovely one, demure to those she did not recognize, yet joyfully abliss and like a turf of fire. A coin of benevolence- a thing to immediately reconcile. She was spoiled by her and her father, as well as the protection of the castle. She garner no ambition shared upon them, never ask of anything but the attention of her parents.

However, it all changes simple and discreet; with the babe missing out her rousing hours and silently roaming the training grounds in her father's back, latch like a koala. Guinevere thought it was of her admiration to her father…. But it is so much more. She have taken a liking to wearing her armour when she needed be, angling close next to the window gazing down at the streets line up with the banners of the realm.

Mordred's wish… have been turned into an obsession; not that the girl would know it first-hand.

"Done!"

"Thank you, my knight." She replied, pulled out of her thoughts. The queen looks at her reflection on the mirror, and bit back her tongue to not laugh at her form.

She deem her youth much worse for wear. The braid her little girl made with every fibre of her time are unkempt and wild. She knew she's at fault to the unfettering provocation she done to her child, but the few knots dangling awkwardly, crisscrossing irregularly and shamming her form of that a dishevelled common folk after a morning awakening-she could not condone to blame it in her child's flimsy experience as a toddler.

"It's beautiful, beloved." she praised, kissing the tot on her sweaty mane. Mordred giggles at her mother.

"Hmph! Merely for you, Mama! A gift of a knight to her Queen!"

Guinevere bit her tongue and smiled genuinely, looking at Mordred's satisfied and proud puff of grin.. She's a form of improper royalty- fleetingly grandeur and expose in the commotions in the Court- yet, it matters little to the Queen. She will wore the creation of Mordred with pride.

Saying no more, she stands in her painful position and lifting up her babe close to her leg. Walking side by side, they depart to meet the man of their life.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Woah, haha. Hey guys, don't blame me. I have reasons that I can list down why I didn't post so long:_

 _-Broken system of my laptop_

 _-School schedules for the graduation. It's packed, I'm telling you._

 _-Confinement_

 _-Time scarcity_

… _and many more that I don't want you gushing out how lame it is. Truthfully, I use my friend's laptop to do this stuff even if our time is hectic for the months following. Sorry too, if it's not so well devised because, well, it's been so long. And the comments; guys, thank you very much, ahahaha. Welp, guess I can answer yours for now and to those who awaited my other story, you have to wait a little longer- real life will kill me, trust my word._

 _ **DgMax**_ _on chapter 5: Well, I guess to tell you the truth, I have no idea what is the 'present how I met your mother' since I barely watch shows. And hey, Barney has a kid? I didn't know that! And for the last question… welp, what do you expect to a heartthrob Hakuno x Mordred fan?_

 _ **Amerdism**_ _both chapter 7 and 6: hallo, yes, Mordred is adorable for sure, she will wear clothes differ than that of the armour, just, not yet and not far. Altria too will and did use Excalibur per se, Altria may look like a Lancer and Saber now, in the middle of that personification. Tall like Lancer and a little stern and bun tied Saber. I specialize at sleeping man, and I knew we have so many things that can be open up in this story, but we have to be patient and it will come sooner in the future. I made your suggestion though, but not for Altria, hope it will fair your liking._

 _ **DgMax**_ _on chapter 7: *raise brow*, you are one very observant and predictionist- if that's a word._

 _ **Fidd99**_ _on chapter 7: Yay bro, if my laptop is repaired, I'll chat with you lots._

 _ **ZenoZen:**_ _Very soon, Zen. Very soon._


	9. Reminiscence

_Author's note: Hello~ Happy Valentines! If ever, that you would like to suggest something, feel free to message me! Amerdism said that I can count on you guys if my ideas are out for a bleep. So… will you?_

* * *

"Good God!" an elder man yelled in horror, sliding his hand to where his heart lays as the Princess of the Realm huff and puff; pulling her body and kicking her lithe form upward into a sycamore tree; face red in anger, hands digging firmly to prove her ire to the seers of the commotion. The servants and knights with commoners combine look stiffly jaw slack at the scene, pertaining a rebel princess chattering cusses no seven- year- old toddler should know, with a noble elder at the foot of the tree and a pompous fat woman shrieking irritatingly.

"Lady Mordred, please do come down!" A hawk nose woman, clad in noble dress with as little as to none authority in her voice, shriek, fanning herself as the little blonde is seen upward to a tree in the rose garden, climbing up… and up….. and up.

"No way will I permit to be ordered around, hag!"

"P-Princess, how uncouth-!"

"Save your breath, you bitch!"

"Oh my!" the woman cries, shielding her eyes dramatically to the burning gaze of the child. "What have I done to deserve your wrath, Princess? My, my poor heart could not take your words!"

"Ugh! Stay away, you crazy woman! And take your sack of old potatoes with you out of my sight!"

"Princess, oh how will this look badly to your father's name…" the elder man shook his head in anger, warily looking at the surrounding people gathering quickly to observe their backs. "Make haste, princess and do as we said. We are here to guide you through your success, not your infamy for being a-!"

"To Tartarus with your folly!" the child interrupted, "Do not take my father's name against me! My father and mother could only spoke to me equally! So stitch your pungent mouth and stick lances in your asses!"

"Princess!" he arrogantly raise his voice, fanning the fire more. "Shame, Princess. **Shame.** Have you no shame acting so.. so mollycoddled and _immature?_ My goodness, you will be the next ruler of Camelot!"

"Shut up!" at last, the little child is up to the highest branches where the seers could not glimpse, sweat drenched and scowling to the elders, both a teacher assigned to make her a proper princess. A proper heir. A proper woman.

Mordred look at the man and woman in disgust, looking down with such flame that her eyes shine and send trembles down rotting spines.

Was she not good enough? She does not need any teacher or guidance from anyone else. She will make her own way, make her own rules.

She will not obey those who rejected her; those who whispered bad things about her mother and father. She will not lean close to ask for their teachings; she will not be fooled by their nonsense.

 _Do this, don't do not. You shall, and you must not. What a joke. I have my parents and_ _ **friend**_ _on support, and that's enough._

"Shut up," she continued, glaring daggers to the both of them. "I will shame myself for snooping down to your useless ramblings! Proper princess you said! Is it entertaining brainless chickens and staying pretty? Hah! If I do that, that won't be _me_!" Mordred proclaims, as she shreds her small frilly dress- making the teachers paler and paler- and her knots and braids.

She gathers it in her hands and throws it down the tree, stark beautifully as she stands with a piece of red cloth hiding her bud of chest and red clothing hiding her nether region. Then, she huff in dignity, striking a post for the two elders, one wizard and her parents staring her down at the castle- intrigued- to see.

"Listen fools! I need not to be a proper lady and wasting time to whatever things! I will become a Knight! **AND THERE'S NOTHING THAT YOU CAN STOP ME!** " , and yelled; she did, pointing down the clear blue sky in intensity….. hiding her shivering fear on how to get down the tree.

"Where did she learn to cuss like a pirate?" Altria sighs and shook her head in exaggeration, while a certain wizard sneezes in confusion.

 _ **CHAPTER VIIII: REMINISCENCE**_

Guinevere's patience rarely wears thin.

If the rope might come loose, the people- even the castle itself- knew silence and did their best to hide in the Queen's ire. She takes no charges for anyone, and simply storms and barge in to the place where the person she's mad at stands.

However-

"Mama? What's this word over here?"

"Hm?" she lean close to her baby, pointing down a book shipped in a land called Greece, of lores and gods they could not comprehend, sharing myths of grandeur and adventures a small princess should not fancy herself with. But with a curiosity and energy to read on her own, Guinevere could only smile at the babe, answering her inquiry. "It is 'Hyacinth', my love."

"Hyacinth…" the babe test the foreign word in her mouth, before continuing down her obvious fascination to the adventures, taking time and ignoring the plain look the queen has, eyes unfocused in the distance. They were sprawled in the Queen's bed, the cool breeze wafting off and calming their bonding time, as so coddled as it seems.

-However, the fury inside her could only hide so little. Her indignation, those she hides well from the two persons she loved and loves, starts after Mordred's proclamation and rejection to the elders. There, not far away in a secluded place, was her fear blooms anew. She remembers, so clearly...

 _She marched down the shadowy corridor in a purposeful stride, ablaze in annoyance, clutching a crumbled paper in secrecy before sliding down a secret passage- meeting face to face with the knight who holds her secret infidelity, expecting her to come and close in on his embrace._

 _Yet before he could act, she throws the paper mightily to his armored chest, seething in rage._

" _What. Is. This?" the knight, tall and handsome; rejoice when his eyes fell on her beauty, minding the crass and searing attitude of her impatience, and deem to sooth it out. The paper is unnoticed, as he takes no time to strain his eyes away._

" _It's exactly as what you see, Guinevere." Lancelot bowed down slightly, still minding their titles' differences. "The decree was pronounced as a declaration of war a day before. It is a proclamation of revolution from the monarchs at the east, though if the King willed it be, their title could be eliminated with his orders alone."_

 _Indeed, the message of a decree spoke of it harshly; a treachery in the peace the King Arthur Pendragon swore to uphold and withstand on his reign; squashed by their unsatisfied funding and treasury; conceived by the mind track that the King has weaken, for more than six years had he stoop down and cease evading lands of another realm. They gave a warning of an upcoming war; in honor of their knightly pride._

 _The knights of the round made no reaction, but the eagerness to fight another war are mutually recognized by the King._

" _I have no care of what they did! But I do care about what they will do!" the queen yelled, leveled and strong. "What of my husband spoke to sully this bold avowal to assassinate my child?" there, her voice crack; the fear blooms and the knight tried to pull the queen in his arms, only for her to back away, shivering._

" _Gui-… My Lady.." Lancelot hesitated, concern in his eyes palatable to his own lustful pleasure to see this vulnerable side of the queen alone._

" _It was written,_ _ **emphasize**_ _\- that they will make her purity rot with theirs… and_ _ **use**_ _her like a pig we are. Oh tell me, Lancelot… what have my husband compelled you to do?" Guinevere weeps, but the tears do not fell._

 _The knight didn't respond for a minute, until a sigh break out in his lungs. "My lady….. the King orders_ _ **nothing**_ _of sort." He bitterly speaks the truth._

 _The queen's heart stopped beating, looking at the knight like he grown three heads. "… Nothing." She echoed incredulously. "Why?"_

" _I have no accurate response for that, My Lady," the knight solemnly looks away to her beauty, regret smearing shown on his visage. "The King was silent from the beginning until the meeting ends." Lancelot knew he was not the only one disappointed, those in the inner circle does also; with Gawain and Kay expressing it by vocal and brute._

 _Then, with all there is to it, Guinevere lashed out her anger, cursing aloud her husband's name, searching for her, calling for the useless king-_

"Mama, is rape a good word?" Mordred suddenly asks, now reading a story of the Rape of Persephone, scratching her chin in thought.

"It…." The queen blink in surprise, the question flies off her head in haste as it pierces her reminiscence and brings her back to reality. Hesitantly, she answered, very slowly, not knowing if her answer is correct. "…. Is?"

"Huh." Mordred nods in childish wonder, grinning at her mother before she looking down at the book on her lap again. "Rape is a good thing, huh. I wish I could rape someone too, Mama."

Guinevere could only blink repeatedly, horror painting her face. However, she will never forget….

 _How she tear up the castle to ridicule her husband…._

 _Only to find a simple note for her alone, from her husband far ahead of journey towards the east….._

' _ **I will eradicate their existence from the earth and heavens above. I will come back in two months; protect our child until I arrive.' - Altria**_

….. Towards the revolt as a harbinger of death.

Not moments after Mordred grew tired and bored, Guinevere bathed her with hugs and kisses to lull her to sleep. But the hush voices in her head engrave pictures of her father and how dearly she misses him. And so, she whispered, tiredly to her mother. "Mama…. Where's Dada?"

"Far away; protecting us, little one." The queen whispers, hiding the swelling tears in her eyes at the top of her babe's head.

"When will he come back?"

"Soon, my love. Dada's destination is not an easy feat to find."

"Wha's he doin' there?" the child slurred, slipping down and down, to the Elysian field of dreams.

"He'll find a mighty adventure ahead, one that he can tell you as your lullabies for many nights."

"Adv'nture… Like a knight?" the child giggles, until she dropped, unconscious, dreaming of her father in his horse, lance in poise and face marred with determination.

"Yes…. Like a knight." Guinevere sobs, clutching the child in fervor, doing nothing but compelled herself to stay strong. Asking.. Wanting… the kiss of farewell she never minded to treasure the last time she saw the King. The cryptic words…. The look of longing…. The day before the meeting of the round table….

" _Say, Guinevere…" Altria whispers in her ear, holding her queen close to her chest. "….. I wonder how deep love is; to make me feel this way towards Mordred… and specially, you."_

"… _."_ _The queen was meek, frozen in silence._

" _Hah," Altria sighs, hiding the way a heavy feeling pressed down her soul- Shame? Doubt? Fear?- she do not know. "… This…. Feelings… I hope it's true. My… love for you… May I find the fitting words to surpass ' I love you'."_

* * *

She paid attention to the sky, the sky that sips the flame of the city she burned; the infamy their crowned heads delivers- the city which dared use her child to made her mad.

It works, quite effectively- as she walks in a dirty street full of weeping mothers and children she spared lives, of the elderly who could not fight. She stops, and comprehends their fearful look, the bow of defeats and the anguish to see their man and father and son slaughtered in accordance to the king of the domain they were in.

Altria can feel nothing; do nothing to hide her hole of absence, for she leaves Camelot with mere madness as a will and revenge as her goal. A two weeks travel without a proper rest and food in disposal to fed her black hole of a stomach seems impossible, but she remain strong still; ready to fight still…. Intending to end this revolt who will do harm to her cub.

She internally laughs at her composure, bloodily smeared and covered in grime and chunk of unrecognizable objects. She stares down at her gauntlet, harden and frozen to the instinct to protect.

Then… she smiled; a sad one, for all those who can see.

She thought of her child she leaves to her wife; of Mordred's admiration to her, of the child's wish to become a knight.

Will she forget all of those if she saw her form now? Will she reject her own dreams when she saw how she was covered in blood, taking lives of another? Ruining kingdoms and feeling no sympathetic emotions to confine them with?

Will her child still love her, if she knew her father is a murderer?

She knew the answer; she knew it from the start it is known.

" _Being a knight is not all about good things and saving people's lives." She said back then, as she brush Haunt and her child skips stones to the lake close to the wall encircling Camelot. The child looks at her tentatively, ears prickling to hear of knights and their duties._

" _It isn't?" her six years old babe drew close to her, focused and amazed as she sooth Haunt's mangled mane._

" _It isn't," Altria continues, nodding. "In order to become a proper knight, you must also shred yourself as a person in order to become one. You must be selfless, those who do deeds not from the expense of yourself, but in the expense of others. You have to cover your hands with blood and sell your innocence to protect the naivety of others."_

" _I don' get it." The child pouts, crossing her arms tightly in her chest._

" _It's like this," Altria halts and leveled herself at her child's height, staring at her big green eyes. "If I am the king who orders you to kill a man-,"_

 _The child gasped in surprise, but the king resumes, "-you will do it as I tell you. You have to set aside your doubt and your conscience to accomplish-,"_

" _What's accamply?" the child cut in, making the king pause._

" _Accomplish… when a knight finish his mission. You have to set it aside to become a proper knight. You have to shed blood. You might have to kill. Do you understand?"_

" _Of course!" the child pumps her chest proudly, grinning at her blank look. Altria knew she could not understand it, for she was but a tot-_

" _But," the child frowns instantly, pointing a finger at her father. ", I don't think Dada will ordah me to kill a man!"_

" _Why is that?" the King raise a perfect brow, challenging the child to defend her word._

" _Because Dada is righteous! Dada loves the people even if you can't understand some!"_

" _However, what if I_ _ **did**_ _order you to?"_

" _Then I will do it!"_

" _Why?" Altria paid no mind when her tone began to sound sharp; but her child unwaveringly looks at her own, determination and love and trust shown in those eyes._

" _Because Dada had asked me to! Maybe I don't have anything in my head that can help Dada, but by accampling my me- scion, I can help Dada in his burdens!"_

" _You will… do it for me?" the king's voice knotted, emotions just barely clogging her throat._

" _Umu!" Mordred laughs, nodding her head jovially. "If becoming a proper knight is being shelf-less, then I don't want to be a proper knight! Just a Knight is fine! I wanna help Dada, isn't it shelf- fishy- ness enough?"_

" _But you will still kill then," the king whispers, defeated. Her mission to subdue her toddler for becoming a knight failed._

" _Duh!" Mordred glared at her father with all her might. "At least I will not do it because it's my respawn-sibility, I will not hold back and just be me! Called it a love of a daughter, I swear!"_

Altria knew Mordred will still look at her the same. Truthfully, this revelation calms her soul and ease redemption to her sins.

She may not say it, but she too- cannot become a proper knight. She invaded the land because she deemed it right, to protect her cub, to cease their attacks.

Because she chose to on her own will, not because she was commanded to take it as responsibility.

 _How absurd,_ she thought. _Mordred knows of our similarities before I do._ With that in mind, she strode.

The bodies of those whom marched forward to stopped her unexpected visit lies on the road; some unrecognizable and few intact. She spared them no glance, and walk, down to the road from the castle she did, ignoring the whispers and cries and wallowing whimpers.

She looks at the poor state of the shelters and homes she passed, of the corruption under her nose. What a poorly defended place who boldly declares war to the strongest of Britain. She shook her head in contemplation, what will she do to this dying place?

She thinks not of her previous self, where she will crushed everything and leave it behind to die on their own. She knew not how she can be called Perfect King back then, if what she did was the opposite of perfection.

And instead of thinking of the past, she thought of her beloved wife, her Mordred… her life.

What to do in this dying place?

 _Love them…. Don't let them astray._ Altria soften her gaze, vowing to rejoice and rebuild what is rightfully theirs- protect a strange domain to its ruler- love them as her own kingdom- make them prosper in the name of the being she devotes.

 _Mordred would be proud._ She thought happily, drinking the warm sensation of the light that seeps through the dark sky above.

She walks and walks…. And she stops, hardening her face and slipping down in her mask.

She met her trusted knights halfway- Sir Tristan and Agravain- dragging a fat King like a toy ready to be burnt to ash. The king flail and cry for help, with a daughter and wife in the clutch of Sir Kay- the wife silent as a mute, while the daughter-

"… Is that…" Altria whispers to herself, looking at the brown haired child and the hollow brown eyes. She looks familiar. And so righteously scarred.

"Have mercy! Have mercy!" the fat king wheezed in the sky, his grime and mud splattered tunic doing no good but to cover his bloated belly, unfitting to led an army. Sir Tristan huff and strung an arrow to his bow pointed at the fallen king, after Sir Agravain drop the feet he was dragging, digging a foot to the huge tummy.

Altria leveled him with a neutral expression. The big fat…. Pig looking King…. Dare defy a dragon like herself? She bit her inner cheek to hide an ever arrogant smile on her face.

It's unseemingly. So disputant and out of character. Oh what a stupid King he is.

"My Lord," Tristan started, eyes hidden in its slit, but the variation of disgust could be heard in his voice. "We have breached the castle as you told. With your front distraction, the back wall was, as you said, swiftly infiltrated. We met a few obstacles that we easily handle…. But, My Lord," he paused, gritting his teeth in anger.

How surprising, for Altria to see Sir Tristan angry other than his aloof personality, but she make haste and nods her understanding, looking at Agravain to continue.

"Your Majesty, this abomination of a spoiled trash had been behind, over and in a child-," his harden eyes look at the hollowed child to Sir Kay's support. "-no older than your… daughter back in Camelot. You knew what it means; I have no reason to explain further."

"What of the wife?"

"She's chained up, My Lord," Sir Kay spit in the wiggling fat king in disgust, "In a balcony for the people to see. Humiliated for many times, I have not known. But she was proven to be a recent crowned queen, the twentieth of her kind burned with runes,"

"Kind?"

"Faeries, My Lord." Sir Kay nodded at her. "The servants of the castle had helped us save the queen, and her child who is-,"

"I see," Altria put a stopped to the explanation, as she saw that the fat king was now, far and out of reach. Sir Tristan lowered his bow and Agravain pulls his cloak to hide the look of blankness in both mother and daughter's eyes as Altria stomp forward, closer to the fat king….

Closer and closer….

Until she's in front, blocking the King of the domain. His snot looking face looks truly pitiful. She's not much of an abuser but…. She might know a thing or two.

"Do you have any last words, My Lord?" she asked, icily; deadly.

"Please, have mercy!" the fat king yelled.

"I apologize; it seems I'm running out of mercy. Farewell, My Lord," Altria unsheathe Excalibur, "May Lucifer burn you in hell."

And strike, she did. Not of a quick death. None of the swift, painless death.

None of those.

Not after what he done to sully the femininity of the creatures who brings her trusted sword and lance to protect her kingdom from harm.

She strikes his nape, drawing him unconscious with the pommel of Excalibur. After the deed was done, she sighs slowly, warily looking passes the horizon, out in the hill towards her route home.

"Sir Tristan…."

"My Lord?"

"We embark and secure the border first, before we will see to it that the Lady of the Lake will be the one who will avenge her kind to this man."

"How to treat him, My Lord?" Kay smirks, kicking the unconscious man.

Altria barely think, she states her resolve. "Tie him like an animal, and Haunt will do the rest of the violent ride for him."

"What then, Your Majesty?" Agravain exclaims, guiding the mute mother and child to the attentive horses following them, neighing their joy to meet their hosts.

"Then, … Let's swiftly make haste, to Camelot. With the wife and child, if you would."

"With pleasure, Your Majesty."

* * *

Mordred was sad to hear that her father was away without a proper farewell, as well as the absence of the phantom voice she likes to call a friend. Hours passed and the days went that came as a month without the presence of her father, making her remorseful and gloomy.

More hours than she willed it, she longed to stay in the place where she can smell and feel the presence of her father. Up to his room, study, the lion's den or the stable where Haunt was. Once or twice, she request to flee out for a picnic in a place her parents always rest, to a beautiful tree with leaves different in colors and sparkling in the light of the sun. But her mother is hesitant, more like she feared something Mordred could not understand, and she dropped her request to calm her mother, playing with the safety of the cold stone.

With his presence out, her heart beats faster and faster, like there was something taking her, like a spurt of horrors of the ghost she red. Not a few days, the horrors have begun. The nightmares happened, and she was awoken shaking and yelling in pain.

She dreamed of herself, of a dark room. Of a beautiful castle, pulling out of the grasp of a blonde woman hiding in a black clothing. She dreamt of a hill, of a lance, of her father.

Bloodied. Dead. And he's not coming back.

She dreamed of the voice. Her friend. Ordering her.

Kill her father. Kill her beloved father.

And she could feel nothing but betrayal.

She missed her father, his presence, his looks.

She loves her father so dearly, that the thought of killing him brings tears to her eyes.

She wailed and wailed for her father to appeared, but her mother could not provide anything. She could not give the yearning she needs.

And so, her lackluster joy drew into a bitter silence. Her mother could not do but hold her as she whimpers and ask again and again.

Two months passed. Two months, and still her father is not home.

She thought of their travels, their actions…. Their dreams… it is so boldly lacking… and Mordred's in need of parental love her Dada could only execute.

She looks pale now, sickly and thin. She can't eat, nor can't sleep. Mordred admires her mother, who provides a support and a smile that can ease her cries. Mother trusts her husband dearly, and Mordred hope that she could. She stares far ahead and think of their last encounter; the soft voice, the arms outstretch.

This is the first time she will experience the pain of her father gone. Will this happen again? Will this be the pain of the family a knight will leave, never knowing if they are still alive?

If this pain can make her so alone….. what if she go on board on her own journey when she is old enough, with her father in another…. Will her mother could handle the sadness it will wrought?

And just like that, Mordred cries, running down the hallway, towards her mother at the Throne Room and down to the-

"Oof!"

"Gh!"

-She stumbled in her bottom, her trouser providing no little security or smoothness in landing. She wipes the dampness in her eyes, before she glared, to the blonde knight she despise so much.

"You…" Gawain growled, sneering at her form. She sneers back. So much for a comfort by her mother. The knight in her front could be called relative, and some says blood is thicker than water- whatever that is- and one must be respectful to those connected in blood. However, Mordred knows nothing of connectedness, but she finds it quite fitting that her blood boils when she meet this man so prideful.

"You little whore…" the blonde knight growled, eyes darkening dangerously.

"Oh, the Horse Face whines." She shot back, comically huffing and looking at the blonde up and down.

"Would you like some lesson to stifle your brute tongue?"

"Why would I want a lesson if you take none yourself!"

"Why you.."

"Bleh! Horse face!"

"I don't know why, but I find this entertaining, don't you think so brother?" suddenly, another voice walks in, peering down at her. A woman, a female version of the prideful man with softer eyes and lighter complexion. She smiles beautifully, at her.

"Why, of course sister. Never once I thought a small little fledgling can assert so much temper in our brother." Then, another face appeared, with the same look as the arrogant man, but with a tanner skin and violet eyes, a soft smirk in the corner of his mouth.

"Oh dear, what a cute little kid. She truly looks like His Highness below, ain't she?" The boy continues, looking down at her form. Mordred huffs, offended. She stands on her own, pat her tunics off dirt, and glared at the boy, arms crossed.

"I am not cute! I'm handsome!"

The boy blinks, then he laughs. "Yeah, indeed I am proven true. You're cute."

"I am not!" Mordred yells, kicking her feet childishly to the ground, anger rising in her cheeks. "You stupid bastard!"

With a choked, the boy went silent as he process what he heard. The girl guffaws in merriment, doubling her efforts to not succumb on her knees from the pressure in her abdomen.

"Oh, dear Gaheris! Have the girl made you speechless!? She's not just adorable, but her tongue can hold out with your smooth drawls!"

"Silence you, Gareth!" 'Gaheris' stammered, bickering at his sister. The blonde princess looks at them back and forth, until her eyes focused on Gawain again, but now, it was not seething.

It's flaming bright. "Excuse me, wimp." He hissed, so lowly she might not hear it if she's not looking. Not a moment pass, the arrogant man hold his siblings neck tightly, silencing their squabbles and pushing them out her view, towards another room.

Quietness reigns in the corridor, and Mordred knew not what to do. The feeling she had before, it fades away. The distraction had done its deeds, she was left blank and sad once again.. Her longing…. !

"His Highness… Is Dada here!?" she asked herself; a shine in her eyes overflowing quite excitedly. She remembered the boy said she looks like her father; _he must be here!_

"Dada!" she called, as she runs down and to the throne room towards her mother. The female monarch looks surprise, as she balled and eagerly looks at the tired orange eyes, comprehending her excitement.

"What is it, love?" her mother sooths, looking apologetically to the farmers she ignored for the expense of her child. The subjects bowed down, respectably retreating out the room to provide some privacy for the royal family.

"Mama, mama! Is Dada here?" she jumps up and down.

"Dada?" the queen blinks owlishly, "My love, your father's still not here." Then, just like that- Mordred feels so withdrawn again.

"He's not?" she whispered, eyes blinking rapidly in confusion. "But… But a boy with Horse Face said he saw Dada below!"

"Horse… Face?"

"Horse Face! Gawainapig!"

"Gawainapig-?….My love," Guinevere hushed, looking from left to right. "Have you not realized that it may be a portrait that the boy sees?" then, she points at the portraits towering above the beacons. "This throne is full of you father's portraits. Has it not occurred to you?"

With the downfall of her excitement, comes the shadow rushing down again. Mordred makes no haste to cover her dejected face as her eyes burns and tears fell.

One.

Two.

Three.

The queen gasped, alarmingly- she tried to hush her but Mordred steps away, quivering and silent, bawling her hands to stop the hiccups and the snot trying to come out of her nose. She sits childishly, legs crane and arms hugging it close to her chest which she cover her face with. She minded not of her mother's apologies, of the booths clanking.

She ignores the silence and the wafting scent and presence closing from behind.

Because after all this time, after all this sadness; there's no Dada she can see. There's no father that can wipe the tears away, there's no-

"Wah!?" she gasped. Two hands snake in her armpits and lift her in the air. She tried to protest, to kick and flail, but her tummy is making a funny sensation so she could not verbally retort. So, with all she could do, she wipe down her tears once again and behold…..

"Da…. da?" there, in her front, holding her, is her Dada. Blonde hair tied in bun, green eyes calm and soft, royal clothes paint in blue, the Pendragon insignia… the familiar sword.

"Cub…." The father sighs, putting her down…. But she won't stand on her own, confusing her father.

"….'gain." Mordred mumbled, emotions babbling inside. She likes this. She likes it a lot. She stares hard at her confused father, repeating her words. "Lift…. 'gain." And so, with little to none knowledge, the King lift her up again-

"STUPID DADA!" and she use this motion to jerk and threw a kick in her father's face. She cried with all her might, knocking a few punches in her father's chest. The king accepted it, unflinchingly.

 _If this is what I can do to atone to my sins, then so be it_. Altria thought, solemnly.

Her Dada drew her close in her arms, and she wailed, hugging his neck, wrapping her legs to her father's waist in fervor. "Dada! Dada!" she called, again and again. "Where have ya been!? I'm so lonely, where were ya, Dada!?" she sobs, lulled to calmness as her father rocks her softly, kissed her gently, and pat her back lovingly.

"My apologies, cub.. I… require quite a few difficult routes that needs time. The weather does its share of-,"

"I don't care!" the babe whines, burying more deeply in her father's collarbone. The stench of dirt. Of grass. Of sweat. She mind none of those, for her Dada is here."I don't care anymore! Dada's here…. You're here…."

"Indeed, I am."

She missed his hugs, she missed this warm. Another pair of arms encircles them and Dada makes room for her Mama to lean in. They cradle each other, lovingly, so fragile and stunningly.

"Don't leave me, Dada.." Mordred whimpers weakly, famished and relief giving in to tiredness of the months full of misery. "Don't leave me alone…." Then, as though the parents recall a memory of her childhood, they tighten their embrace more. Kissing her, chasing the fears away.

So, as to prove the point that she was waiting for so long, she slept not a short moment after a satisfying reunion- cuddled in the embrace of her protector and savior.

Altria looks at her child adoringly, before she locks eyes with her wife, renewed and tears still unshed.

"You have done quite well to stay strong, my wife." Altria praised, kissing the temple of the silent queen- still unable to speak her own feelings to the subject in their hands. "Rest now, with our child. Take care of yourself, and I will shoulder the encumbrance I hastily throws upon you." She continues, lovingly smothering her heart of the things she loved.

* * *

 _PREVIEW?_

 _Mordred: Dada, why don't you have the yuckie thingies like Merlin have?_

 _Altria: Yuckie…. Thingies?_

 _Mordred: Yeah, down there!_

 _Altria: …. Where?_

 _Mordred: You know…. THERE!_

 _Altria: I do not know what you are talking about._

 _Mordred: The bump in your middle? Yeah, THERE!_

 _Altria:…..!?_

 _Mordred: I saw him bathing and saw the yuckie thingy! It's hard though, and he let me inspect it closer and I compare it to mine… *still explaining*_

 _*Altria walks out silently, murderous. Her blood boiling to find the wizard*_

 _Mordred: *still explaining*… and then I remember he called it abs? Strained must- kettle?- Dada? D….. Dada?_


	10. The Reason: Wizard Hunt

Author's Note: Hello guys, I'm deeply grateful to each and every one of you who favored and is patiently waiting for me to post a chapter that certainly was pushed back so many times. So without any further I do, here's a bull of story for you.

* * *

As a wizard, who far surpass the lifespan of an ordinary human, Merlin had never- ever, unquestionably pushed any circumstances that results badly, into the phrase called 'bad luck'.

For him, bad luck has nothing to do with how the world will fall, how certain premonition have been an action of an invisible force of nature- but how the people used it as a way to cleanse their previous choices and decisions- a leeway they did to play innocent, to the eyes of the observers.

It is merely a word formed out of desperation for excuses- a simple way of showing how butterfly effect would affect everything they might come across. And so, Merlin despised it, for he is a seer who can take a glimpse to the future far from the truth. Yet, as the irony of all things speaks for itself, and the words will roll of his tongue for days on end, appears a certain event…. That will washed the twisted belief he had about luck and misfortune, with the way how the tides will misbehave at the ocean.

It came so subtly, so stealthy like the reaper of death where he could not feel the presence, until it was too late to turn his back. The day was cold, he remembered, as an unusual chime of wind that brings the autumn leaves into fall streams on his robe, fluttering it as he gaze at the gray clouds across.

He fleetingly remembers it, how he will notice the dying flowers in the field, how lucidly disturbing it was, to hear the silent murmurs of the market, that was always buzzing in activity. He remembers it, the beating of his own heart, the growing uneasiness- the sweat running through his nape. He could still taste the fresh tang of metals, the dust of dirt in the air, the trickle of water from the distance, and the observing eyes of many hunters.

He felt like a prey; food to the festivities that should have been happening that day. After all, it's the King of Camelot's birthday- it should be juvenile. It should be full of laughter and cheer… but all he was met was an army of commoners and knights and royalties combined, weapons raise in the air, awaiting for the right time to pounce in their cute and oblivious little feast.

He noticed it, yet he decided to not do anything at all. How he gather all attention, how the road will part for his steps. He ignores it… and how he wished he did not…... After he met face to face with the King himself, face dangerously close to an anguish puppet, than a cute little lifeless doll.

He then sensed it, the rage from within the heart of Arthur, and the glee in the eyes of everyone to the prize.

There, he exactly knew the predicament, and his heart plummet down like a dead meat to the ground.

He knew that he is being hunted…..

But he surely damn not knows why.

 _ **CHAPTER X: THE REASON: WIZARD HUNT**_

"I hate gatherings, Mama." The heiress pouted, eyes down- ridden as another batch of guests is invited to the other side of the hall.

"So do I, little one," Guinevere replied, patiently sitting as the servants groom her for the day. ".., such a small sacrifice we must endure as the hosts."

"Muuuu~, why can't we celebrate it just like in the past, Mama?"

"I'm sure your father would love to, but then again he did this otherwise," the queen softly giggles, coaxing a few strands of hair out of her own eyes. "What a cunning king- opting to play near his knaves and swindle power in treacherous hearts." She then whispered, small enough so her child could not hear her light threat in mind.

Little Mordred, wearing black clothes and red trousers which compliments her little cloak and sturdy footwear, was peeking at the slit of two mahogany doors, seeing the hassle and buzzling pitter patter of footsteps, crowding the hallway she can apt to boast how she memorized it like the back of her little palm, blindfolded to boot!

Like any other prominent events that are celebrated from the castle for years she lived, Mordred have constantly watch with mild curiosity as the servants and knights alike worked together in a faux pas deadline, setting banners and complicated equipment and paintings on walls that may catch the eyes of the visiting guests and their legion of soldiers, holding the symbol of their family. Children with noble births came running and snooping down the halls with their noses up in the air, spoil as putrid garbage, underestimating some servants like common slaves who a kind of person Mordred unlikely wants to meet face to face.

She does not have any deep hate for the children on her age per se, yet she could not hide her distaste when seeing one who looks as handsome and quite beautiful as their face with rotten traits she dislikes about pampered little princesses and princes. Moreover, she quite have an eye for a good natured fellow when she sees one; those who will make an outstanding impression of what they shape themselves, not because they are taught to act in deceit.

However, with it aside- the castle is all over shaping its natural presence suitable for taste of ungrateful – in Mordred's perspective- guests, to speak like a noble kingdom it presented; to rule out the undignified woos. But on certain parts, the ground of homeliness still resides secretly, in a place where the crass nobles would never step upon. And Mordred hoped to go there immediately- in her father's chamber- to greet the King to the day of his birth date. She truly hoped to catch the king in surprise, but she is bound to her mother's promise- that they will greet the king together with smiles.

Guinevere, almost sensing the impatience shuffling and skitters her child's feet is unconsciously doing, sprung laugh with delight, which the little girl turn her head upon, confusion laced in her brows.

"Mama?"

"Why don't you hail your father without me, beloved?" the queen suggest, opening her arms as the child jump into it, clearly in disagreement as her brows crumpled in warning. "Perhaps, gave him a good morning kiss on my behalf?"

"But we constantly do it together, all the time!" Mordred argued, pouting as her mother rubbed her cheeks tenderly. She did not like to go without her mother, especially parading without any shield to hide her discomfort. The nasty whispers are infuriating, but her mother can cease the buzzling with her presence alone.

"I know, love. Can you blame me?" the queen cooed, tilting her head to the smiling servants, giggling at the interaction of mother and cub. "The sun had climbed its way in the sky, and still, I am not fit to round the halls undress. Mayhap, you can take my greetings to your father and I will come to you, as quickly as I could."

"But-! But!"

"There's no time, darling. Go now, your Dada awaits."

"But they are everywhere, mama!" the chittering child whine, glaring daggers at the servants before looking at her mother with pleading eyes. "I'm scared!" _Of hitting them. Of startling them. I am scared for you._ The message is hidden, but the queen knows it rings true. It might clench her heart painfully, but she knows it is her fault first and foremost.

Guinevere tried hard not to show anything, lest the babe will be cross with her all day. She vaguely thought of the events where Mordred will skip away from any conversation and dealings, hiding at her skirt or her father's cloak. How uncomfortable the child had been, when Guinevere forced her to interact with the children of dukes and duchess. And how it always turns out; the children crying out in the open, pointing their fingers at the little princess, kicking and punching the life out of a flailing playmate, screaming for help. The elders are not an exemption to Mordred's rule, but their arrogance is put on hold, if ever they want to live peacefully with the raging baby dragon.

Her daughter has a way to vent things and stages that pronounce how close she is in exploding and expressing her thoughts. Her common guise is avoidance, to prevent words from spilling out and being woven as such in a defense mechanism, unwilling to let her guard down. Then, if the push comes to shove, Mordred adapt the silent treatment, ignoring wailing calls and sugar coated threats. She will not speak until her patience runs out, and the unspoken thoughts will be recklessly engulf in a shameful cusses that creates a major twist in the princess's character, mostly making the children back down.

If a few remain stubborn, she will threaten them with force; words chilling, but at the same time, null in the innocence- or is it ignorance?- of the brave few. When it's still not enough, Mordred will asked them to leave, to forget, to stay away as soon as they can. But when those failed and the few will still persist, a duel is all it always ended. Resulting for the queen, herself, to grasp her child away from the victim, easing her own child with a few simple words of warning, which the cub may or may not deserve.

Mordred knows it about herself, how she cannot stand to meet everyone eye to eye- and would certainly pull back to not terrify them, with the impulses they cannot read in her behavior, so she can protect them from her own self. If only Guinevere seen it sooner, then she will prevent the thought growing in Mordred of being what she is would bring disputant hushes to the queen on raising her that way; impatient, indecisive, unfit.

With that in mind, the queen softly kissed her babe in her brows, understanding her concern and winking at the snappy babe, a plan in mind. "Well then, why don't you use the secret passage?"

And just like that, the child gasped in astonishment, springing back to life. "Can I!?" she excitedly chirped, bouncing in her mother's lap. The queen merrily ruffled her bangs. She might have forbid the child from using it, but what's the harm done if she lift that rule now?

"Now, now. Like I told you before…." the mother whispers, pausing if Mordred will resume her phrase.

"Straight ahead. Stick to the smooth walls. If the ground would fall, tap the torches three times and howler. Got it!" Mordred continued, bouncing off in her lap after kissing her mother goodbye and pushing herself passed the steep stair at the back of the fireplace, starting her journey to the secret paths of the castle.

Guinevere is confident she'll make it safe at her father's chamber; they used it too many times in the dead of night after all. She can further attest that Mordred will know her way in and out like a flimsy little toddler. Besides, it's not like Mordred will find a cozy wizard on a bath alone, right?

Oh, how wrong of her to hope… as the child screech and stop on her tracks, backing slower than a snail, to peek at the illuminated room connected to the secret paths, filled with tub and wizard silently humming a tune.

The child enters the echoing room with a fresh blossoms of unidentified flowers, head tilted to the familiar wizard, who opens his slit eyes to gaze at the innocent babe at his right.

"What are those?" the babe suddenly point down, at his body with renewed interest.

Without so much a smirk, the wizard replied. "Oh, this?" he then pointed down…. And a huge grin split his face in half, teasing the child to come closer, so the child had lean and approach where he sat. He drew a breath in her little ear, and teasingly drawled each syllable… as his clairvoyance failed to show his future.

"Well, what do you know? The fledgling have taken an interest in my gorgeous bodice~ Well then, little pup, it's called~…..!"

* * *

As the days come and go, and the King have been shunned in any work she throw herself to avoid boredom- comes the day she was birthed, between the fall out of summer and a new dawn for falling leaves. She have been awaiting the day that it will passed quickly, so thus she will tire in hosting the feast given by her kingdom, and embrace those she loves.

Yet, though she despised being cajoled away in her responsibilities, Altria liked the peace and quiet it brings. The slow zenith and the hypnotizing flow of citizens decorating her land; she dare not move in her position in the balcony, calmly gazing at the cushion sit she is in. Moreover, it is her way of passing, of awaiting her loved ones to barge in her door unsupervised, to let them dress her, and start the day improvising the land hand in hand.

She loved it, how this day was supposed to be in the past, with her little cub around. They will leave the castle walls, and find places that they could play and be free from what they are. She remembered the freedom and adoration she had to her most loveable women, as they thread words of pleasure in others skin, while Mordred will play with a pack of pups, or cubs that would join Altria's little princess for fun.

She yearn for the next sunrise, on how she's awoken by a pitter patter of small feet, and a weight that will pinned her on bed, while her baby sings the preposterous repetition of 'happy birthday to you', kissing her eyelids until she opens it. She endures how adorable her child can woo her stone heart, where Mordred will saw this opportunity to hide in her blue coat, arms wrapped tightly in her limbs, before the servants will nervously chatter, asking where the young princess is.

Of course, she would not forget the luxury of her own wife bathing her….. or how Guinevere will accompany her, seated in her front- curving her voluptuous body to fit her own. She hid it; her lust….. but no one will blame a husband for wanting his wife, no?

Altria engrave it to her memory, one by one; her flower crown, their theatrical drama and the clashing of light wooden swords, and the hilarious end it always wrought; unique in its own way, as Guinevere will crackle unladylike, yelling victory with her arms encircle in Altria's head like a trophy. The childish laughs and the race down to the flower fields resides in her mind- and the warm dinner at the end, tucking the bundle of tot, and obtaining her reward in her wife's body.

It's all enchanting, and so beautifully crafted by the God on whim.

But she have to postpone that loving memories for now, as she have a duty to make her guest decently appreciating her day- so she can announce a decade competition that will follow on few years; a competition of banners and their kin, 'The Royal Competition', which the Camelot will host, a thousand nobilities in as their dear companions. If Mordred will hear it; how long will she train for?

Not moments did her mind long for her child, came the sneezed of the cub. She turn her head in the beautiful scenery, to glance at Mordred coming out of the hidden path at the back of her chamber, tapping off the soot or any grime in her clothes.

"Cub." She whispers, like the bell of wind that grazes her long hair. The child went rigid, searching for her attentively before locking gaze at the king's ocean green.

She scrutinize how wrinkled and out of loop Mordred's belt are, and how the child would limp and pat her behind uncomfortably. Mordred's hair was also in a mesh of disarray, but she ignores it; sometimes Mordred is wilder and lazier than this.

Altria knew no such beauty that will surpass how her child grew into her care, far more grandeur than raising a kingdom, or the blooming pride of winning a battle. She beckon the cub with open arms, which Mordred pounce in, giggling and cooing her title with all the love.

"Happy birthday to you~!" the child started, a small smile makes its way on Altria's stoic face. Somethings never changes.

"Happy birthday to me…" she then sings with Mordred, cupping her child's face, blowing the lids close.

"Happy birthday~!"

"Happy birthday…"

"Happy birth- day, Dada~!" her cub clapped in excitement, her grin breaking off the tension in Altria's muscle like magic, before kissing her on the lips and cheeks, smothering her with wet kisses.. "More winters to come!"

"Good morning…. Love." Altria responds, placing her hand on the child's back, drawing circles and pinning Mordred's head in her collar.

"Mama will come by sooner, Dada. The nannies aren't unerringly punctual." Comfortable in her position, the babe squirm and wrapped her little fingers in her Dada's hand, poking the hard calluses and pinching the end of his fingers.

"And so I heard," the king agreed, breathing in her daughter's sweet child scent; honey and apples, her favorite snacks she will die for before sharing to anyone. "…, though I would be inclining to enquire why bother using the secret paths."

"Muuuh~! The halls aren't empty this morning, Dada." Mordred complains, pouting as she traced her father's hand over and over again. "There are so many people…. I think I might have gone mad…"

"And why would that be the case?" smoothly, Altria glides her palm to stretch out the wrinkles at her child's trousers, bobbing her knees a few times to lull the child in relaxation.

"I'm…. not exactly fond of talking to them, Dada. It seems that I'm talking to a… a mascarawhatsit?"

"Mask?" frowning, the king produced; staring at the solemn green hues of her child.

"Aye, that!" Mordred nodded, puffing her cheeks in contemplation. "Every time they looked and spoke to me, they would say good things that seemed s… scri… skipted? ….. or so Mama says. And when I turned around, they were talking the opposite of… of what they said in my face."

"It is the world of adults, cub," Altria sighs, tilting the child's chin so they would look in the eye. ", as nobilities, you shan't express what you truly are in front of others. Different masks for deception are unavoidable, but I admire how you can sense it without our guidance. You must learn who to trust; treason is a probable thing, and one must not sit idle without knowing who will be truthful and who will not."

"What's de- cep- scion?"

"Trickery. Untruthfulness. Cover."

"Why would you need a cover? Isn't it more fun to just be yourself?"

With the innocent question, Altria chuckles and is amused at the audacity of her cub's naivety. Sometimes the truth was found in strange places which adults had tried to hide one way or another.

"Most of our subjects will not accept a royalty whom walks on the same ground as them. So façade are created, to satisfy their fantasies."

"They are full load of ruffians. Mama says reality is not a fantasy, you know!"

"And indeed, life is not." The King hushed. She long tried to stop her cub from forming bad words that put sailors to shame, yet she is stubborn as her father- and she damn knows not who taught her cub the ways of a pirate. Standing up with the babe in her arms and forming a rhythmic pattern, she began to dance.

There was no music, but here and there, Altria have her daughter's laughter as a song. She dance and step and sway, just so she can hear the high pitch squeal and roaring cackle of the cub's breaking voice, full of happiness and innocence she will not asunder in exchange for her throne.

Every now and then Altria paused, before she will start again, with more vigor than the last they had.

Mordred cheered, placing her hands at Altria's neck and swaying to the hum of her father, and the sway of his hips. She then added a few notes and tunes that create melody from plain enjoyment, gushing as the king went round and round until the babe was disintegrated as a quivering mess.

"Ahehehe, Dada's fun!" Mordred praised, kissing the vibrating throat out of gratitude. The day is beautiful, as magnificent as the euphoria will last. "I feel like a princess now….. yet, I cannot help but feel disgusted when I ponder about it."

"There was no rule to be neither what you are nor what you want to be," Altria says, before raising the child upwards and throwing her at the sky, only to catch her fall and do it again. She took a small sniff in her babe's clothes, only to draw back with a small frown. ",but I recall no daughter of mine likes a scent of sweet roses of Rome. Tell me cub, where have you been before you come to me?"

"Emrys!" Altria's brow went up in her hairline, giving the most indifferent and comical blink of an eye.

"Emrys?" she wants to hear it again, to confirm if her guess is true.

"The old goat, Dada! I saw the pervert man before I went to you!"

"I… see." as far as the cub lives, she never calls the famous wizard by the name 'Merlin'. Altria did not even recall telling the child of the druid name 'Emrys', one of the phrase for the court wizard which pass a few decades without breaking a sweat.

Bad scenarios came to mind, but her logical side squashed the immoral thoughts out like a dust.

However, she will avoid discussing the jester in behalf of her wife's request. She will not let Merlin tarnish her child with his remarks and double- sided jeer about the cub's actions. She will not squander how kind the day had been with flimsy guesses. There's nothing that can ruin her mood on the day of her birth after all-

Yet, as she scoop the child down in her arms, the child have suddenly find some importance on her body, roaming her blue embroiled clothes with mild interest as she stares far down to the king's liking.

-Or so she hoped.

Now, a new wave of discomfort- the first one for the day- have thread its way on her spine, making her take a quick meditating breathe to calm her nerves, and slip up one plain guise to cover the impending cold.

"Cub, proper heiress does not stare quite… strongly, in the place you are staring at the moment." She implies, catching the attention of the child again, until it returns to where it is stuck.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah!" stopping her thoughts out loud, the child quickly slap one fist at her upturn palm- sporting a cheery grin as she looks yet again, in the middle of the king's body. "Dada, why don't you have the yucky thingies like Merlin have?"

"Yuckie… thingies?" the king sweated uncontrollably. Did she gulp loudly? Altria thinks she did.

"Yeah, down there!" Mordred jumps up and down, pointing to hands in nowhere to Altria's liking, eyes still trained not to swam back to the king's face.

"... Where?" the king's voice was steady, but her mind was in turmoil as beads of sweat rolls down her face. She hope that she's mistaking, and Mordred will-

"You know…. _**THERE!**_ "

"I do not know what you are talking about." Altria tried; _tried_ to pray to her God. She has no experience and any real confidence yet on talking the birds and the bees to her pup. And- are her arms shaking? It definitely not, right? _Right!?_

"The bump in your middle? Yeah, THERE!" the childish wonder strikes again, digging more dirt than a shallow cave to buried the problems away.

"….. B- bump i- in.. my?... !?" the king stutters; a one in a million occurrence, but the child did not hear the growled whisper, losing its warm and happiness; replace with a more sinister growl of murder.

The child goes on and on, flailing her limbs as she express her discoveries, unconsciously fanning the embers which turn into fire. "I saw him bathing and saw the yuckie thingy!," she resumes, still high from the enjoyable moments with her father to see how even the air itself turns mute. "It's hard though, and he let me inspect it closer and compare it to mine…" without bathing an eye, the cub goes on and on the wheel around her frozen father, hard as a statue' like a volcano ready to burst.

And so, the deed was done, and the sin of tongue cannot be revoke for long. Without Mordred knowing it, Altria sees red. It came leaking through her blood, and the sky has turned glum.

Then Altria recalled in shaky huffs. The wrinkled clothes. The rose scent. The ruffled mane. The uncomfortable limping….

' _ **Merlin!? Have you stolen my child's chastity!? What have you done!?'**_ the dragon inside her screamed for the head of a certain man….. and Camelot itself listen.

Everyone looks up at the darkening sky.

The noise from _everything_ lulled.

The people shakes on their feet like little lambs.

And Guinevere has stood at the entrance of her husband's chamber, taken aback. Altria side stepped her wife, after putting a hand in her delicate shoulders, whispering dark curses for one man. She walks silently out the halls, down the chambers, into the open field without bathing any sweat for another moment.

The cub suddenly hummed, "…. And then I remembered he called it abs? Strained must- kettle?- Dada?" noticing for once her father is not around, the child return to the confines of her father's room. ".. D- dada?" she called again.

"Oh, Mordred. What have you done?" The queen raise one shaking palm on her sweating face full of fear. Upon hearing her mother, Mordred turns adoringly, a question in her head.

"Mama, where did Dada go?-"

" **MMMMMMEEEEERRRRRRLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNN!"**

And a bellowing voice answers her, echoing far overpassing the walls defending the kingdom of Camelot.

"Oh, never mind. Let us play with Dada, Mama!"

"My word…" the queen almost fainted, while her ears ring at the powerful outburst of the king.

It's been decades since Altria's last outburst.

After all, that incident almost destroyed Camelot.

* * *

"Would you like some popped corn, my dear?" a mellow- softer than a bird's feather- voice of the mother of one particular brunette, offering a freshly cooked corns, shining like golden grains.

The brunette looks at her mother's form; curvy yet soft, brown hair and purple eyes, long ears and siren like voice: Esmeralda D Gral Avalon. Fairy. Abused wife. Loving mother. The woman is approaching her little form, curled into the roof connected to the window avoided by many, amused at the view she was watching at the magic bubble her mother formed for her alone.

Nodding and inviting her mother to her side, Esmeralda scoot closer to her babe, wrapping one arm to her waist, and kissing the child's temple once or twice, before she watched with mirth at the stampeding king, searching for a wizard out in the vicinity.

"Aren't they jovial, my love?" Esmeralda giggled, seeing as the queen is struggling to free a wild little heiress on approaching the rampaging dragon in disguise. "What an interesting, little fellows. Don't you agree dear one?"

The brown haired child nodded, stuffing her mouth with the popped corn in her mother's lap.

"Oh, this day should be fun to watch," the fairy mother whispers to none, cradling her babe's head. The cheer in her voice contradicts what sadness is plastered in her orbs, like a solemn distress. "…. If only you regain your voice, my dear."

The child seems offended, glaring softly at her mother. Swallowing the contents on her mouth, she huffed and pouted, crossing her arms to her chest.

"I do regain my voice, mother, I merely wished to save my breath on what will come forward in this scenario." With ease, the tot surprised her mother. Chime and soft, pleasant and hypnotizing like pillow talks. The child nuzzles her mother's upturned palm, as a way of showing how much she loved Esmeralda in fairies standards.

"Oh, my little Weiss," the mother cooed, tightening her hold to her still recovering child- favored and taken care of by the Camelot's royalty with care- welcomed as a guest as long as they desired. ",why do you hate talking so?"

"I do not hate talking, I spoke a few. Big difference." Weiss Feld D Gral Avalon stated, finding the perfect spot to cocoon her body, mushed in her mother's form.

"Why are you preparing your breath, my love?"

"Laughter. Lots of it." Comes the short response, as the two engage in small talks here and there.

Until they felt it.

The wizard had return from his flight.

The two faeries sport small wicked smiles, eating popped corn, as the whole castle staffs and guest march at the King's command….

Participating to the first legalized Wizard Hunt.


	11. Predators and Prey: Wizard Hunt

_Arthur Pendragon is a adequate boy with grace, king of success and bloodline- new to his throne and a grand specimen of youth and lust. He is all and a fine husband- of fortnight he had with his wife Guinevere, severely lacking none of traits that shame once taste on a wagon between once legs._

 _With his eyes green as the mountains bask in the sun rays, women are compelled to adore him from far and beyond, so thus his body, frame, fame and claims. Who wouldn't love the King who unsheathed the Sword of Peace prophesized to the world?_

 _Who wouldn't like a young sovereign, regarded as the symbol of hope, prosperity and tranquility, inspiring god with his beauty?_

 _Who wouldn't like a young husband, nude as he was born; to welcome his wife for a consummation of love?_

 _Alas, not everyone is meant to be swayed by his form, as Arthur's wife- Guinevere, warily covering her goddess frame supple and full of innocence, eyes turn down below to the wood between._

 _He drew a frown on his chiseled face, concern radiating fully out his pores. Why does his wife doubt him to be gentle in their night of escapade?_

 _Could it be the size of what makes him man? Could it be the lack of clothing that a woman would like to unshed for themselves? Could it be his wife is force to act according to her responsibilities as his own?_

 _It did not bode well to the man._

 _Arthur has no clue, so he consoled- voice a silver and of gold. Enchanting and mesmerizing, asking, "What is the matter? The night won't wait for the sun to rise, love one."_

 _His wife drew away, towards the edge of the cot, away from him- frightened, quivering in agitation, in response to the inquiry he uttered. Deeply worried, the fourteen year old wife, whimpered in the chilled breeze._

 _"You are not my husband." It is a statement. Mere fact._

 _Arthur smiles; forced, drawing closer to the woman, which the lady deeply ire. "Had you forgotten the face you had kissed in front of our God, my queen?"_

 _"Had you forgotten the prospect of our meeting for this night, my king?" feisty, the woman modestly shies back. Her cascading hair ill-suited to the harsh expression of her eyes. Pity, Arthur loves her fierce side._

 _"To bring an heir to the world." he replied, quite proudly, restricting a scared lady in the corner, putting arms on her waist, much to Guinevere's charge in._

 _"And the world will reject our offer," the wife snarls, pulling away from his embrace, glaring with all her might. ", for you are not the person I vowed to be mine!"_

" _I'm afraid you sure quite mistaken, my love," syrupy, Arthur dip his hands at the jar of luck, beckoning the meek woman to stand in his front. "For I, am Arthur."_

" _ **Hoh? Are you now?**_ _"_

 _However, it seems he is caught with sharp maws awaiting his hands._

 _And so with the breeze sending the frozen inquiry did Arthur had experience a cold born from the shadows. The air stilled. The ground sways. And the stars dimmed._

 _A pair of radiant yellow eyes approaches from the closed wooden door. Immaculate blonde hair of perfection renewed from the gaze of the moon. The cascading robe of blue rustles like a cackle of the Grim Reaper's bones._

 _Deadly._

 _Predator._

 _Poison._

 _The silent question of his presence; unworthy to be voiced out to the world._

 _The young man-, no- woman sauntered like a lion to its den, barely containing her possessiveness, standing guard to her queen._

' _Arthur' drew an anxious laugh. He backs away with renewed strength, hands covering his manliness- and the illusion filtering his figure disrupts on its own. Now that's the cause of Guinevere's reaction. He did not expect the_ _ **King**_ _himself had revealed_ _ **his**_ _true gender out of his knowledge. Too late, he regrets not attending the parade of her reign, to inform himself of his mistake._

" _ **Merlin.**_ _" ,the real King- Altria Pendragon whispered._

 _Small but clear._

 _Heard and listened._

 _The person masquerading as Arthur forced himself to gulp down his fears, and farce a confidence born out of nothing. He summoned his courage to preserve himself- and gave a conciliating manner within his upturned arms._

 _But alas, the mouth is a sinner, and the words simmer with fear._

" _In my defense, I am certain you'll not reveal it to your wife once I'm finished…. First time's a charm, right?" And thus, not even crickets could start distracting the peace; the demolition flattening half of Camelot came in._

 _ **CHAPTER XI: THE WIZARD HUNT: PREDATORS AND PREY**_

"What did I do, what did I do, what did I do, **What. Did. I.** _ **Do!?**_ " Merlin squawked in fear, murmuring repeatedly.

After returning home in his morning flight, he had realized that his absence upset someone powerful enough to verdict upon one single day to hunt him down. Of course, a person is powerful enough to persuade men and _women_ , especially children and elders- outcast, poor, wealthy, royalties and guards combine for a bounty of worth any single wish the King can provide.

They stood at ready, scattered everywhere with a shine in their eyes and leer on their faces. The phenomenal sadistic flukes are plastered everywhere and their preferred equipment gripped in their hands in eagerness. He knew he's at fault for a many that was awaken pregnant and their virginity stolen but, _come on-_ it's not like it's that many… right?

So it could be a different reason…. Right?

However, that miraculous insanity is not what gave the all-powerful wizard the goose bumps of a lifetime. Oh- No- o- o- _o- o- o!_ What made him drive up close to the walls of his defense is the _necessity_ to hunt him down! And whoever thought that-!

" _ **EXCALIBUR!"**_

"Kyah!?" He is adamant to refuse that he squealed like a lady in heat as he dodged a huge burst of yellow mana straight in his way. The road crack in its disturbance, carts turn upside down and horses running for their survival. He stood, clothes singed and mouth agape; eyes twitching in complete bafflement, before he turn head and guzzled down his poise.

What kind of an insane person will unleash Excalibur to cleave the market in half just to take a piece of his flank!?

 _Oh._

 _Right._

 _Altria is._ His thought reminded. The dust cleared a path for that _familiar_ _ **yellow**_ gaze, _familiar_ sensation of right and _familiar_ killing commitment.

 _Well hello there, Alter Altria~._ Merlin's legs ooze like a jelly, defending his second head. He had felt it; the flashbacks of his not so tactful persuasion many years ago. How he deceive none but himself. How he hid for two straight years after being maimed by a humanized **dragon.** He hid underground licking his wounds of egocentricity and scampering in his knees after **recovering** his detached male anatomy.

What could possibly tip off the King? It's not like he persuade the Queen yet again and did a heinous act of laying filthy hands on anyone Altria likely treas-

Oh…..

 _Oh_ …

 _ **Oh**_ _.._

 **OH NO.** He whimpered, gaze outstandingly returning to his earlier action.

" _I wanna touch it!" the wyrmling pouted, trying to touch the toned muscles in his stomach, marred with water and a freshly scented roses. He prevents it, with his hand on the tot's head, brushing it playfully before pushing her back harshly. The homunculus adorably puff her cheeks out, clothes in disarray by the force and her bum taking all the unwanted attention, seemingly in pain._

" _What'cha did that for!?"_

" _Sorry, lass. I told you, didn't I? Inspect it, no touching. These babies are not for snotty kids like you to be messed with."_

" _But I wanna touch your cooties! I don't have yuckie thingies! See!?" Just to prove her point, the homunculus raise her robe, perfectly presenting her round tummy, still perfectly shape that define baby fats the women adore so much from the ugly snot faces. Merlin would have crunch his face in disgust, but he's far from his cheerful mask of a counselor and thus, only shakes his head in bemusement at the act._

" _Once you grew and train and play, yours will present itself."_

" _Ew! It would not!"_

" _Oh, sure it will~. Every hardworking folks has two or whole."_

" _What about Dada!?"_

" _Your Dada might have them. I'm not sure. It's up to you to find out."_

" _What will I say?" the child tilt her head to the side, confusion lace in her face._

" _Just be truthful," he half- heartedly said, laziness in between his breath. "You can tell him what you wanted to say. I don't care."_

" _Even if I tell him what happened here?" the child's words never implied much but innocence, nothing between the lines._

" _Certainly." He agreed without hesitation, succumbing to the hazy scent of roses of Rome._

" _Alright! If you say so!"_

" **Run little mouse. Run.** " the King advices, voice taciturn and undeniably coated in **madness.**

He complied with a head start. His tongue tied with his argument dying down his throat.

A perfect misunderstanding this day was. But he knew better. Merlin knew better!

 _That brat!_ his mind seethed, _She did this on purpose!_

* * *

Meanwhile, at the castle walls- Mordred tweaks at her mother's sleeves, innocuously pulling Guinevere out into frenzy as the sun stayed indolently at the top of the sky.

"Mama, is Emry's still alive?"

"It will not be long…" the queen replied, watching the outside world with concern.

"Muh? Mama, is Emrys still living?"

"No," Guinevere shook her head in resignation, but the bubbling giggle in her throat said otherwise. "He's going to die."

* * *

Let it be known; the mighty King, Altria Pendragon is quite sensitive to her feelings.

She was given out the day she was born, to humorously be raise as a perfect knight, to rule and to learn- to be the heir in hiding, and to obscure the sun itself with her vibrancy, to own the land and soil under her tiny foot.

She willed it. She let others dictate her world. She let fate be carved on her way- to see the good horizon beyond, to feel the breeze with her own lungs, and to gain experience with the folks both rude and humble.

She let the sword gave the word, and she complies in her own accord.

She gave it, martyr enough to give the fine piece of her soul.

What a selfless little girl, some says, but it is not far from the truth.

However, Altria is still a human. She was still a child. She had things that she wanted, and she had things that she liked.

One of it is her own feelings, buried deep inside. If latch and attached itself to _someone_ , those things will send dreamful skies of wonderful future Altria will deemed good to apply.

She is sensitive- far too loving than anyone combine. She cared too much, hate too much, ignore too much- that her own world will focus on keeping it safe, even it cost her real happiness; real gain.

And when she treasured dearly, she keep it forever;

Camelot, mighty and everlasting.

Her adored and precious woman, who she married with a pure intent to cherish, to breathe until they clouded by death or laid down side by side.

Her pride and joy, the daughter she had spared life, the baby girl she have very much loved. Her everything. The light of her life.

She had never once look for more. She protected them in her warm, cradle them in her arms.

She loved them. They are dear to the King….. and whoever threatens them will feel the full scale of her wrath, the insecurities and the burning fury of her possessiveness to keep them safe out of the reach of blacks adorning the earth she had made.

And so, it is no matter that she lost herself in her inner demons; the self that loved and love. The person that will open up hell to everyone, just to keep those cherished people safe.

" **Your time is running. Hide well, Merlin~."**

Indeed, let it be known; Altria Pendragon is sensitive.

* * *

Non- stop running for many hours ignite much tedious problems the wizard could hope in his untrained stamina.

As Merlin make his way to a safe haven- location still unknown, with the people _stampeding_ close behind, the magic within him convulse into a nervous mess- flight or fight instinct of a human body has run its course of adrenaline to cease the majestic leaps of his heart. He turned around to look back at his pursuers, and regret it immediately when the rouge smiles reach close to their eyes.

"Hey there, kitty kitty~!" the leader reach out with his prongs, as if his white hair is that of a cat that he can impaled!

"Curse you!" Merlin shriek in terror, feeding his legs with a huge amount of force and magic to propel him to the scrawny rooftops because- _for heaven's sake, there's a freaking meter between him and the mob!_

Without even a single breath, arrows strike his trail with numbing accuracy in his foot falls which regain deathly speed. He ducked in the slope; afraid, daring to peep a glance to see-!

He gaped.

"Tristan!?" He shouts in horror. The ever kind Tristan, and a painfully treading song of arrows awaits their call. Merlin should have run further, away from him, but seriously, _who wouldn't gawk to a person who can shoot arrows with his eyes closed!?_

He see the Knight of the heart grimly smiled, resigned to his role and mouthing an apology before readying his majestic bow, four arrows string to be launch. Archers honed him like a missile launcher very far away from the future he dreamed; scattered yet symmetrically in position, and exactly aiming at his next flock of rotting wood board before he prevented being impaled by the perfect timed fire, jumping down an alley….. on the hands of awaiting soldiers with their swords raised.

Weaponries? Acceptable.

Sorceries? Inevitable.

Seduction? Not feasible.

Destruction? Downright possible.

Merlin is powerful, yes, but controlling the mass horde of power to simultaneously prevent people from being toast as a frog is difficult undeniably. Of course, that much raw magic can turn heads and those who are armed to repel him might create a way to actually cut his meat in a deadly precision.

 _Hey, at least the people are happy to see us die, aye?_ A small part of his conscience whispered; jest or not, Merlin has the tendency to replied a shout of ' _WRONG!'_ to squash the thought with tribulation. "That is not helping mind! SO NOT HELPING!" Oh dear, look at him; desperate and talking to himself.

 _I will find that brat, I TRULY WILL!_ He vowed to himself, to try to clear these mess of day.

With a great effort, he instinctually morphed into a rat to slide down one sword and to the ground. Running into the metallic feet of the distracted soldiers, he slammed his way into freedom-

 **BAMH!**

He yipped, eyes advancing to hard black orbs as the war hammer was lifted to the crater it produce.

 _Agravain._

"Hn." Agravain snorts; face still as stony as his rigid body. "Don't forget we knew what you can do. **Fool**." The war hammer is raise again, and he skid his way to an upside cart, skillfully ignoring the explosions of woods and dust mixed with splinters cutting his hind legs and lower backs.

Yet, as much as he is at the advantage of his transformation and can certainly search a hole and stay there with his tails between his legs, the actuality of being rat- minded made him doubt. Of course, human are compelled to run due to building pressure, and with it, includes the wizard who run and _run_ until his formed yet again, failed him- returning back in his original look lacking the focus it needs.

This turn heads and the pandemonium starts again.

For the record, physical activity for him without the presence of a warm cushion is as great as running in circles for a whole day without water. Actively pushing himself to his limits implies only on his ability to keep his magic accessible for days on end- not by completely running out in _gods be damn obstacles_ accompanied by pursuing sadistic people he protected from evil dames and curses!

He's barely out in the filthy road with his tell a tale white cloak forgotten in favor for a swift and easy acceleration of speed when-!

 **OMPH!**

"Seriously!?" Merlin cried out in surprise, painstakingly pulling a piece of nuisance in his flank. Greatly troubled, he could see an open window; perch in its sturdy side is a giggling little _boy_ _ **,**_ ready to fire another one of his tool. "Blow dart! IN MY BUTT CHEEK! I'll remember you, BOY! TRY TO HIDE FROM ME WHEN I SURVIVED!" he growled, sprinting into narrow holes and evading flying woks and baskets full of fruits. With a great agility, he whirled and toppled in the wooden lapels of low windows using reinforce muscles, soot covered clothes unattended.

With his dirty hair sticking in places- thanks to a quick burst of fire arrow surprising him from behind; the hilarity of his utterly panicked expression has been a ploy for the courageous men and knights to redouble their efforts to catch the flailing prey in atrocious urge to compete with one another- dooming Merlin closer to his passing age. Until he veers into a tight door of a grim kitchen, towards the living room and morphing into a falcon to churn into the fireplace and out of the chimney, taking the sky on his own.

He would have laugh-

 _If the freaking birds are not on my tail also!_ He soar and evade the flock of feathers and – _wait, is that vultures!?-_ twist out of the way.

"Oh, OW! Cut tha- OW! OUT!" he groaned, dashing below and using a barrel roll to remain aloft. He traced the paths unattended and cut a clean drift to the plaza center, birds on his feathers gaining much more momentum. Flank with the vultures snapping their beaks in dangerous manner, he zoomed up into the castle for an exact right angle, blocking his pursuers further strife as they slammed into the stone wall. He found the source of control not long after, to Tristan's ever playing lyre of a bow!

"Deprive me of my freedom, will you!?" he screeched, diving close to the red head and went stiff-!

 **FWWOOOMH!**

-Just to evade a javelin thrown to his left.

"The skies won't bring solitude, Merlin!" a handsome voice called, as Merlin drive an arc towards the clouds. He tried not to respond, he really did- for he knew Lancelot's words rang true.

The sky above the kingdom is an open space, free to be shot upon by professional archers and hunters of birds. Yet, below is also a home for a hundred of thousands of people, the scavengers still fear to hurt their comrades in one goal.

However, once Altria covets herself on her inner demons, her **one track mind** would be the death of all. She will use everything in her disposal to achieve even the nonrealistic objectives, whether to break and kill and- _he certainly hope not-_ bath the sky with her supreme lance brought by the miracles gifted from the heavens above.

 _So much for a wonderful day._ Merlin mourned. He soar high in a speed his falcon self can endure, lest the spear that wound a dragon once might scald his lungs wide open. The turbulence laced with hate drums spit pains and cuts in his flapping wings, ruffling the feathers and giving him direction towards unending chaos within the sky.

With a mighty flap, he regains velocity which not even arrows can stride far. He drew closer to the clouds, away and close to the walls-

 **BAM!**

And he was blocked, straight down.

-He chokes on his own spit, diving face first into a barrier, which _he didn't_ raised there!

With the barrier expertly rustling his mind beyond fear, something snapped within.

 _Someone is laughing in my expense! Someone has to!_

Unbeknownst to him, someone just did.

So he let himself fall, and the voice in his head resurface with jeer. Cooing in pity.

Then….

Then the world seems so….. _funny._ _Sobafflingmagnificenthecant-!_

A small memory resurfaces in the crack.

Pandemonium.

Hunting.

Everyone.

… _Playing?_

Merlin's face doubled into a maniacal hilarity. His eyes went pinpricks, and the world seems so much better than he thought it would be.

The day seems so _fitting._

 _So perfect-!_

 _So…. So extraordinaire divine!_

No- o- _o- o~!_ He sung, wheezing his vengeance.

He won't run away. Nope. Never. Na- uh~!

 _Have they thought they could bully him and never receive revenge in return!? Hah! Guess again!_

This will be his day also.

His **Wizard's Day!**

 _Oh- ho- ho- ho~! Hunt me down, alright! I'll make you all regret it!_

And so, with a burst of magic…..

The sky rains of mooing cows and colorful bubbles, creating a mirage of rainbows and _confetti_.

* * *

Esmeralda is so many things, but inconspicuous is her favorite character amongst the degradable.

So ordinary, in fact, that she was banished from the Great City of Resting Place for the One True King for being unworthy.

So simple, where she could not use magic too long without tiring herself.

So miserable in her own mana, she was captured and married into a wanton King, abusing her as a tool in every inhumane way.

So plain, she was feebler than human, yet far more beautiful beyond she can comprehend accepting being simplistic in nature.

So unresponsive, that she had turned into a lifeless doll- unconscious to the real world- only to find out, that a small babe was in her womb, taken by her pooch of a husband, used as her replacement craving for flesh.

She should hate the darling with her very being, as she was born out of lust of a human she could not even hurt by a fingernail in her soiled hands. But the love so powerful, the reason of the absolute existence of fairies and magic to the world- pulled her heartstrings to her little _baby,_ nourishing her life, craving to the wonderful life she had birthed to the world.

Yet… being ordinary is what makes her life difficult. She is powerless. She is useless and frail. She could not even save her own child by the binds of the treacherous husband, not ceasing in the slightest to look ahead of Esmeralda's child as his own- but of that of a new meat. A new toy. An ordinary babe born on brothel. Of course, Esmeralda agreed that the babe is not one given to her by the naive mongrel.

But Esmeralda also digressed.

Her baby- _her beautiful baby_ \- is by no means ordinary in nature. She is inconspicuous on her own, dull eyes and hair, perfectly average on her own limitations….. but her vast magic far exceeds millennium.

Weiss is beautiful in her own eyes, seeing the boundaries far beyond physical reflection, too young from the Creation of Life but too old for a child with seven winters in her tail- like her babe was created from _magic_ _ **itself.**_

As is her name, which represents 'white fields' straight from the ethereal Avalon- innocent and born anew. It also compiles the great white tombs in the fields presenting 'closure' , 'death' and 'reborn' to be part of the world yet again, but, in a spiritual form as a warden of nature.

She's utterly different, powerful yet humble in her own gain. Esmeralda professes that Weiss should be living in Avalon amongst the strong; but the babe is far more humble than she thought.

Weiss saw herself as weak as her mother. Ordinary and plain for the omnipotent treasure of the world.

Weiss is proud to be one, because in her own words; _Weak are born to develop, to encompass being strong and win against champions. Inconspicuous are what we all started, before we_ _ **overcome**_ _hardships and reached goals_ _ **.**_

And so, it is no surprise that her babe began to create her little scheme in the eventful day of the perverse wizard, bored out in her own mind. She too, would create one- if it suited well in her hard gained side- character personality effect.

So, without any warning at the populace, Esmeralda's little baby creates a 'dome' at the sky, with only her voice as a rule to _bend_ reality within the confines of the kingdom.

'My _Reality Marble_ ', Weiss said once before. ' _Knowing the cause but_ _ **bending**_ _the facts'_ with the simple explanation that the dome is an object cannot be penetrated. So if it cannot be penetrated, it can be identified as a mass. So if it can be a mass, then it is plausible to solidify.

While _bending_ the truth according to her creativity, the 'dome' cannot be penetrated, **excluding** impression that it is a mass to be identified with five senses which results in _solidity_ invisible to a human senses _ **,**_ defining simple logic of magic.

One peculiar example before is that a human. A human is alive, so it is a living organism. If a human is a living organism then it can die. However, if a human is alive, _whether it is a living organism or_ _ **not,**_ then the **human** can die.

Esmeralda had asked too many times where did the child learn such simplicity on complex spells, but was only rewarded by a shrug on a small shoulder and a ghost of a dream called _'Moon Cell'._ The mother knew far too much weirdness within her child, and dig not further explanation, for inconspicuous persons are not into detailed answers.

Not a moment that Weiss activated the 'dome', comes the sharp crackle of lighting that entails a huge impact within the invisible wall.

The tell a tale voice of someone complaining from the distance above the crowd gave Weiss the rare occurrence of snorting in the expense of the wizard free falling, with the mother close behind.

"That is anticlimactic, my dear." Esmeralda deadpanned, mirth still vibrating smoothly out of her throat and eyes trained at the falling bodice.

"I was making the moment more…. Epic." The child raises her hands to emphasize, before the sky rain down white mammals and rainbow bubbles of some kind. "See?"

"I did see," the mother agreed non surprise. She quickly retracts herself and her babe to the safe walls, before the pricks of dyed water rain down in the kingdom with a full blast of different stench and mooing explosions. ", and I expect us to stay cleaned still after the night falls. No matter, we are safe within these walls."

"The day's young." The child piped in, nuzzling her face at her mother's throat, pressing her lips in Esmeralda's collarbone. "Don't finish what just begun."

"It is almost noon. And what, pray tell, will happen more drastic than a rain that may immobilize the pursuing flocks?" she whispered, slowly walking to their chamber, enjoying the few and far in between conversation she can normally hushed with her only daughter.

"Dunno…" the child hummed, sleepy. "Explosions?"

A deafening sound near the castle implodes, shaking the floor with quakes.

"Hmm… chickens?" the child mumbled, still listing off, ignoring how her mother paused, unnerved, staring below to see a herd of white poultry chickens running about with colorful beaks and wings.

"..Gender bends?" the babe suggest, blinking innocently at her cradle.

"What!? Who are you!?" a mere soldier bellowed underground.

"I is I! Mortius!" another one- female in pitch- shrieked, lace with quick panics and worry.

"You fool! Mortius is a man! Who would believe you gipsy woman!?"

Esmeralda blinked to see the commotion with her mouth slightly agape. Weiss stared also, far too much in haze to see so far.

"…..Dragon?" Weiss slowly continued, doubt rising in her low tone.

" _ **MMMMEEEEERRRRLLLIIINNNN!"**_ Altria's royal voice booms across the kingdom.

"…..Little dragon?"

"Mama, I saw Dada!"

"Wait, dear one! Please, stop!" the heiress run passed the shocked mother and the almost- asleep daughter, with the queen running in tow, breathing hard and off her limit of energy.

The mother blink once, twice….. and to make sure, she repeats for the third time. She looks down at her little baby, eyelids half- closed in obvious will to make her expression indescribable.

"….. Candies?" the child slowly, _very slowly,_ worded- _excitement lacing her voice_ ; her mother awaiting for another ruckus to happen.

Esmeralda tilts her head to the side, asking; "… Candies? What is-!?'

Well, they certainly didn't wait long, as a burst of mana outstretch with complete bizarre churns makes their skin crawl.

The suffocating warm miasma of heat disintegrate bizarre fomations, turning stones into colorful and sticky semi- solid substances with swirling reds, ribbons, blues and canes and white peppered dust which create a far too much _sweetness_ the fairies can endure.

Weiss stared owlishly, tracing the close picture frame to her before leaning into it, licking testily. She nodded and looks at her gob smacked mother with a rare giddy smile, pointing; "Candies."

"….. My darling knew too much." Esmeralda whispered to herself, before she tuck her babe in her bosom- _Weiss's arms unquestionable full of sweets she's nipping coming out of nowhere-_ locating their chambers into the swirls of vivid colors.

* * *

Sir Kay is a grouch, not a kind and worrywart of a **boy** helping human turned _chickens_ finding their homes at the world which seems like a straight up fairy tale from a neverland and wonderland soiled mind of the rogue wizard.

Sir Gaheris- new yet incredibly skilled- is nothing but obedient and courteous to anyone, but with a spell which incapacitate him, there's no actual wonder how the new knight could help them if not for the unfortunate circumstances of his unconsciousness.

Sir Gareth, a lady new to her role, was turned into a slobbering child with a penchant to suckle the mysterious sweets which replace woods, metals and rocks in a variety of soft and edible kind that many of the population is now crashing inside their mouths with eagerness and joviality, their objectives forgotten. However, while her body is of a child, her adult mind was still intact, perfectly capable to follow their lead, even as a distraction for the pervert wizard running about.

Sir Palamedes is intact, if not for an additional appearance of wolf ears sitting comfortable in his head, matching his perplexed expression at the still raining cows exploding upon impact and producing pink and blue streams of small ribbons with materials unique and a burst of powder that seems to induce dose of sleepiness and deep hallucination. Those who survived the sleeping powder- though their colorful hair style says otherwise-, have been working their way on throwing weapons at the running Merlin on the streets, full of sleeping people and running chickens trying to peck his hair in oblivion.

Green.

Pink.

Violet.

Red.

Blue.

White.

The stone heart knight huffs in the atrocious place the Camelot had become, especially the colors so _vivid_ and childlike, unbeknownst to be so perpetually distracting and hurts not just the eyes.

Agravain himself, is no exception to the discord Merlin provide, as he had a pair of arms sticking to his sides- irritatingly creating crude hand signals which he prevents by tying it _tightly_ across his stomach, whilst it tried to escape the binds.

But what is mostly _upsetting_ is Sir Ector, for he is not a grown **woman** with bigger than biceps and perfectly bulging slabs of meat unfitting for his current gender.

Agravain shuddered. Even a hard steeled man like him would have nightmares just to see the sight of the Old Knight looking far bigger than hostile Amazons of the Mores. He just wished it won't scrape his day to day rest, for he will rip his head clean if that's the kind of torture he will be having.

However, not everyone is fortunate as them, for their eyes are drawn down at the ground; to an ugly blotch of pig with indescribable mane of blonde and…. _When does pig can frown and furrowed its brows?_

Now apparently, for the pig was Sir Gawain, slump on his hind legs and fury rumbling off of his animal body in **waves.**

What's more grating for Agravain is the tendency of the pig to shriek and wail and thrust its nose in the air, snorting. He was almost out of his fuel before and he literally threatened the transformed knight to skin him and bury him alive.

 _It is quite vexing to try,_ his stone heart sighs. _But appealing to implied on jest for morrow._

"Mowded mmmm… Mowded say true," Gareth babbled, giggling as she pet her brother like a child she is now. "Gwainpig… un, Gwapig. Brother, pig!"

The pig snorted, pushing his snout violently at Gareth's tummy, earning a squeak and a loud laughter.

"Galehis mmm… owed me girl. Pay girl for Galeth. I'm told him." Gareth continues, as the great Palamedes roared in joy at the statement upturned.

"Aye ya' lass better be searchin' good for sk'nny fella's out there." Palamedes advices, ruffling her hair.

"Mmhm! Galeth will!"

"What happened to the proud knights we are…" Agravain growled in his breath, turning away. With his mind still sane, he almost not notice the approaching figure at the end of the road- or the _scorching hot_ growl coming from a tall, long blonde buxom woman drape in blue armor with an insignia of the Pendragon family on her lapels and bellowing coat of arms.

…...

….. ?

….. _What._

…

 _!?_

Agravain choked his breath in shock; so thus Gawain with his legs failing to stand his weight.

A woman.

Completely like their powerful King.

No.

 _No._

"Y- your…. Your Majesty?" he gulped down, in a standstill with the blonde woman. He was regarded by a single glare, before he was spared by the pins of wrath behind the gaze, as it seems like he was deep down in a lion's maw and the center of a dragon's fire. His King, yellow eyed and mouth gritting, brows in complete vehemence- unlike her perfect indifference he once knew before she sauntered in their circle with Rhongomyniad and Excalibur in…. a horrendous shape of a…. a disgusting anatomy of a ….

 _I do not want to finish it._ Agravain vowed, blankly avoiding his gaze away to the ugly picture of indecencies.

"Oh, la la!" Gareth squealed. "What sexy, man!"

Neck deep in anger, Altria missed the presence of her queen scathingly breathing with difficulty. Guinevere pulls an arm in her bosom, and hugged it with all her might. Guinevere tiredly nuzzles the tense arm- which slowly slump-, but her tongue is too thick and weary, she knew she will remain immobile for hours on end.

"…. _**C**_ **u** b?" the hoarseness in the King's voice resides quietly, regaining her pacifying tone of resignation. She asked still, for the worries that bind her blood to her lovely daughter…. Until she gaze around her wife, and had not found the pup within reach.

Alarmed, she gaze down on her wife's face; **worried,** _ **scared… no,**_ _petrified._

Silence reigned, and the cacophony stops in magnitude.

And those around the royal family did turn a blind eye and run helping one another to escape and persist, Agravain included, not long before he realize what will occur….

As the yellowish demon in the King's eyes came back; and the stubborn hair in her crown _came off._

* * *

He is home at last, breathing in the sweet and pleasant breeze of roaring grass planes and wet grains. Clenching the reigns of his thoroughbred, Bedivere smiles as he saw the gate secured by soldiers, protecting it with attentiveness and sharp eyes to the horizon. Hoping that his journey would be enough to inspire and attend the ceremony for the King of Camelot, he flick the reigns with a quick flourish, turning the trot into a short burst of run closer to the edge of the gate.

Now, standing at the front of the soldiers, Bedivere grasp the hood of his cloak to greet the militias with his handsome face, even as muck and dust trails can be faintly seen on his skin.

"A pleasant return, dear sir." The soldier whispered her greeting, before whistling up to her partners; opening up the barred gates with a quick flourish of manpower from the walls. Bedivere, returning for a short journey to a confidential place, open his palm to the female soldier, grasping her small hand in his own before greeting her with a traditional kiss similar to what he once did after leaving the walls.

"And a starry evening to celebrate it, no, dear Marie?" he smiled, perfectly appraising as the soldier scoff in amusement, not even wooed by the slightest of his charm.

"Pray that you may not beckon by death from any flying cows and diving prongs and scoundrels." The soldier snorts, walking away from his path. The Knight gave her a hum from his throat, confuse blooming in his face.

 _It is the King's birth date, is it not? ,_ his thought says. "How astonishing. Is it a new fest of ceremonial meal perhaps?" he asked, which the soldiers flatly exchange glances- unimaginably fooled by his innocence. He might be called the epitome of a great Knight just a step behind Lancelot, but his obliviousness and uneducated social intent skills are that par to the King's.

"Nay, not quite sir Knight." A veteran soldier chuckles nervously, placing a hand on his beard, stroking it. "But I guess the…. Festivities has been quite scantily refurbished for the purpose of… eliminating further perversity."

"Is it? Whom will ruin such day with mere ill- intent?" with Bedivere's doubtful expression, the female- Marie, snorts a laugh and delivers a broad grin to the Knight.

"It does not matter whom, whilst it would be clear as a sun if you put your mind into it. Yet as a humble friend, dear sir, a word of advice might be in accord." she continues, cheerfully. "If the Prey has been seen, the predators will appear. If you will take pity, move out of sight. The scavengers are merciless, since the King himself has ordered this with a deep ire."

"His Majesty?" Bedivere shook his head in mirth, not completely believing them. "No, that would be absurd. His Majesty is aloof to express emotion as a deer. Surely your informant is exaggerating."

"I'm afraid he is not." Marie hid a smirk, shrugging her shoulders. "But I reckon I'm underestimating soaring cows as a basis for the day. Anyway, the road is yours. Calamity awaits."

He left quickly after such weird banter frolicking unto his back. As he dissipates the words out of concern, giving no chance for the advice of the soldier to bloom further, comes a trek on the streets to the outskirts of the kingdom. And there, he strode with his horse, appearing at the other side of the castle, and viewing the wonderful glory of Came-

Bedivere inhaled in confusion, touching his face as a small pink droplet slid past his lid.

…. - _lot?_

The land and huts are not what he is used to. And what's more unnerving is the disconcerting facts of unique colors lighting up like a fireflies even better than torches and candles. He willed his eyes to see wide and gave an ominous shudder at the landscapes he was greeted at.

 _I am tired, and tis but an illusion created by my mind._

Yet, expected by his belief, the people were in cheer, if not for their peculiar manes. Almost the population in the streets is made of few men, chickens, and horses and trolleys combine, creating a flock of traffic for themselves. However, not by far and quite surprised that he did a few double take, each has a weapon within their person, seemingly in a mischievous cheer as they turn the baskets upside down, licking sides of the brightly colored tree branches, scaling rooftops with fragile agility and-

 _Is that a man lifting ski- waitaminute- Why does men wear skirts!?,_ he barely contain his voice to shout in retaliation but halted as a man in horrifying _gown_ sweep past his horse and quickly searched his cloak, scurrying mere seconds after.

Perturbed by the turn of events, he shook his head and reason it as his tiresome journey pulling him in jolly vertigo.

 _I have underestimated my limits. Mayhap, a quick visit in a brother's inn won't hurt._

* * *

He laughed and laughed in his heart's content even if he's still running for his life across all alley of Camelot, and few fowl of chickens pecking cuts and twisting painful scratches in his mane. Moreover, the dreamed he had upon since he was given shelter by the great Father of late King Uther had been given time to remain free beyond the wilderness of his mind.

He had forgotten how happy he was, to be shed off of his authority and acted like a giddy boy he was back from his late childhood.

Dukes and Duchesses? Give them beaks for talking nonsense every moment!

Commoners? A wild color for their robes are much appreciated!

Soldiers? Well, look how beautiful they are in their other form!

Camelot? Too much stones and muck, how about a sweet confectioner snacks for everyone!?

At the very least, Merlin is compelled to be exhausted after his beautiful fabrications of nature. He ceased his antics and the setback for casting charms so much with drawbacks to his exhaustion. The sun would set in its own accord, and the idle chitters of teething living humans are not up for the night life he will subdue!

And just like that, the night befell upon them- and the towering sweet towers brighten like a moth to the darkness, colors alight and creating neon creations and wisp of little glowing dust on air!

All of them stop for a moment, to admire the whole surroundings brightening up like a child's wistful dreams. The brightest colors in their head came alive, and million dreams create a world Merlin makes.

Yet, their wistful glances are fleeting, renewed and fumbling with their lances with a new fire in their eyes.

He fled the grasp of few genders alternated, using their slick colored hairs to grow and bind their owner and blinding the morphed humans into chickens for a few tactics of misdirection from simple illusion.

And without so much of a thought, he skids right into the deserted dessert street-!?

"Ah!"

"Umph!"

Until, yet again, he was stopped by a small obstacle on the way.

 _Damn barnacles and discombobulated nuisance!_ Merlin growled, lungs ready to explode in excursion, picking the yellow and red blob of pest to glare at the wide vivid green set of eyes.

"YOU!" Merlin cackled, voice dry, heart clopping painfully in his ears, creating a headlock and bringing down a fist in the blonde head to twist in aggravation.

"WhOuch! Stop noogies!" Mordred flail, whimpering as his fist won't stop its painful ministration.

"You!... It was…. because of you…. This…. day has been…. Dedicated…. to me! To HUNT me!"

"I didn't-!" Mordred came to complain, but was absolutely squashed by the sweaty wizard giggling in his bated breathe.

"Ahe…. Hah… hehe… Ugh.. heh- ooh, my chest hurts!-….. You… you brat…. thank you…" Merlin laughs, inhaling as much as he can with the babe in his front. "My…. anger subsides….. and for many years…. I forgotten… how… beautiful…. is my life." He continued, looking at the imped child. Gulping down his bile, he straightens to ruffle the blonde hair again.

"Thank you, squirt. Intentional or not, this day would have been dull like the rest of the years I had."

"I told yah' I didn't do anything, you goatie!" Mordred sniffs and blanches, pushing the soak chest with no effort. "And you stink! Mama will get angry I might smell skunk like you!"

"Hah! Then deal with my misery, I need you to cleanse my name." he implied, dusting his self off and carrying the whining child like a sack of potatoes.

And with his feet making in a familiar red street, he was met with lovely womenfolk parading in the sidewalks in complete obliviousness. He drew a breathless laughs from his reserves and should have yelled in merriment when he _really take_ a closer look.

They are women, yes….. but the horror- _their arms are packed with muscles bigger than mine!_ Merlin gawked in astonishment, trailing their bodice in brief moment before he fled the sight, pushing the child off his shoulders and kneeling at a chocolate fountain, vomiting his non- existent meal.

Mordred winced in pain, eyes brimming with unshed tears as she cradle the throbbing shoulder she had landed. Quietly rubbing her face with her sleeve, and disturbed from crying, she quickly looked upon the figure who place a warm hand in her head.

Yellow eyes stared at her warmly, before it ascends… slowly, so painstakingly slow…. Into the groveling wizard.

Altria **smiled,** and Merlin shivered in its wake.

"D- dada?" Mordred whispered in panic, as the debatable girth ugly looking Excalibur sets a dangerous malevolent aura, bathing the surrounding with dread.

Altria regards her with a pat on her tussled head, before the King _giggled,_ humming a song for the dead.

" _ **Oh, Merlin~"**_

* * *

The barren inn twisted as a small white carousel seems peacefully out of havoc from the noises and thumps of feet outside the small shower of rain. Half petrified at the desolate tables full of half- consumed ales and tiny knacks for the horde of commoner, and half- thankful to seemly sees the owner at the corner of the bar; Bedivere unnervingly organize his pelt of bags and sword beside his rickety chair, shrugging his soiled cloak in respect to the old lady setting down his favorite ale.

Though he would like to ask what happen to his brother in arms maintaining the guild in respectable order.

Bedivere downed his drink in quick succession, head rolling from side to side to ease the treasonous tension in his nape.

He would have asked what on God's name occurred while he is away- but he was swerve in his inquiry as a mad dash of horde run passed the inn.

He gave chase on with a confuse stare, and is quite miff when he spotted his fellow Knights accompanying them.

Not too long, he grew indifferent and took a hold of his mug, carefully placing it on his li-

"HAVE MEEEERRRRCCCCCYYYY!"

He jerks in surprise, turning here and there.

The pregnant pause is so deafening, Bedivere could only blink for a moment before a massive beam deteriorates his mind, blacking out for a mere seconds just so he can hear a shrill cry of a girl with white hair coming within the powerful mass.

He woke up the next day sitting abruptly, in to a soft hay of bed, whispering;

"What a weird dream."

He pats his chest in peace and hummed as the mounds there bounce in his antics.

He sighs. He thought he is living in a horrendous mind of a wicked fellow, making him a grown woman.

…..

….. Hold up.

…. _Mounds?_

Wait.

….

"What."

* * *

Guinevere simply gazes at her husband, taking her and Mordred into the moors outside their kingdom, with a shine in the King's face never seen before.

"Dear?"

"Hm?"

"Are you certain we are expected to live in the moors for three moons?"

"Of course, Gwen."

"Alright…" the queen paused. "….. dear?"

"Hm?"

"….. What happened yesterday?"

"I do not know what you are talking about." Altria states with a shimmer in her eyes.

"Your birthday? Yesterday?"

"Ah." A wicked smile.

Mordred tactically avoid being questioned, sweating bullets all over her face.

"Dear?"

"Let's just say…" the King chuckles * _darkly_ *, "…., it passed by like a wasp with a fire in its tail."

* * *

 _Merlin sobs, as his remaining reserves of magic was depleted by turning everything back the way it once since_ _ **the beginning**_ _before the midnight breeze starts to take toll._

 _His wounds- severe- was left in the open until he return the Camelot in its full glory, wiping_ _ **every**_ _single piece of memories in_ _ **every**_ _person he had casted, turning the day's events a mysterious phantom that will left many to wonder what occurs._

 _But one thing's for sure…_

" _Lord…" Merlin whimpered, staring at his buttocks, the_ _ **Excalibur**_ _pierced in between heaven and earth ", let this be a lesson. Women are a force of nature."_

* * *

Mordred tug her Dada's arm, catching the patriarch attention with her innocent look.

"Dada?"

"Hn?"

"What you did to Emrys… Is that what you said before?"

"You have to elaborate, cub."

"That thing you called, 'foolish mongrels with straight sticks deep in their big asses'?"

Altria gulped, as the queen spits the wine she was having.

" **What!?** " Guinevere roared.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello~! Miss me!? Yeah, tough luck, you probably hate me. Anyway, thanks for the likes and views continuously exceeding 23, ooo views guys.

I'll probably need to clarify lot of things on this chapter, huh?

Okay, what does Camelot look like when Merlin let his imagination? It looks like Canterlot in my little ponies.

Where falling cows did came from? Minecraft.

Ugly looking Excalibur? Chibi Arturia in F/ GO.

Confetti? Totally Pinkie Pie fan.

Bedivere's mounds? Pfft, can you guess?

Wellll, have you seen any easter eggs? Comment if you did!


	12. XII: Spikes of Uncertainty (II)

'Like father, like daughter', Mordred knew that much is true, spoken commonly as the sun will rise and fall in slumber.

She is her father's daughter, quite ill tempered, but still the same baby born in her Dada's flesh and blood.

Yes, she is Altria's daughter, as is her face and her attitude; the honor bestowed by her name and the title engraved to be sketch upon hers in the future.

Yet, Mordred knew there's something missing, and unusually, it bothers her so; for it distinguish her as Altria's daughter, but not Guinevere's.

She's all but daunting; her Mama's not quite brave. She would took every challenge with her innocence, but Mama is there to guide her always, to pull her back when she's close to the edge.

It's depressing, to be called her father's again and again, but not her mother's- her Mama who is kind and loving; with a serene smile and a fundamentally warm hugs that take Mordred's pains away.

She had asked it once, why she doesn't have any traits that may gauge her as her mother's daughter, but that day was unwelcome to be recalled, as she was met with an eerie silence- a stillness she never wants to be with again.

Her Dada looks haunted, and Mama had an indescribable expression on her face.

She did not pushed further, only so she could be close to her mother, at all times, depending on her and mimicking her- even if many of her Mama's past time is to sew, organize and talk to everyone she barely knew.

She's sad, to see her Mama over and _over_ again watching her behind as she chase her Dada at front. She wants to walk with her, side by side- to hold her hand and to be swept by her arms.

Mordred despondently came to comprehend, she had regard so much of her Dada's manners, that she neglect her beautiful Mama- always there- _standing there-_ waiting- _always waiting-_ and greeting them with a cheer, arms raise to beckon them, into her safe haven.

Mama never pushed. Dada never suggests. The voice in her head never speaks for so long. However, Mordred wants it to happen- to have a special bond with her Mama; to have a semblance of Guinevere's character to her own.

And thus, with a gulp of determination, she clasped her hand in the abomination-

"What are you doing?"

-and yelp, startled, jumping out of her place in front of the mirror, so she could turn her head and meet the skeptical brown eyes of a daring brunette at the secret door, arms crossed in her flat chest.

The object in Mordred's hands truly _is_ an abomination. It looks horrid. Absolutely gruesome.

Weiss look at her custom up and down. Then, with breathe taken away by the coy blonde, she puffed, humorous smirk slowly curling on her face, a rebuttal coming not trice after.

"Well… shit. You will look ugly in that _dress._ " the little fairy snorts, before pulling an alternative dress out of **nowhere** , throwing it at the princess who could only shout an indignant 'hey!'.

 _ **CHAPTER XII: SPIKES OF UNCERTAINTY (II)**_

Altria place a hand to her mouth, covering the outbreath she hid to the female standing at the door with an almost apathetic countenance.

She detested blindly trusting anyone she never once been associated with except for a small gratitude after the fairy and her child was rescued to the King dwelling in the Lady of the Lake's prison.

However, as a sign of debt trying to be repaid by unfair circumstances, Altria thought it wise to pursue Esmeralda to take the role Merlin could not face many moons after his great defeat at the phantom day that leaves mysteries to the world.

Of course, she was not her first choice. Many of the druid fellows Merlin is acquainted with are still in hiding, traumatized still by Uther's reign of rage for their kind. The mages known in the realm are far too young; it would be dangerous for them to have an access to confidential hole in the security. They could be manipulated, or worse, they might be agents of her _sister._

She evaluated them, too roughly that they stumbled in their words and uncertainty clouds their judgment. They consent fast, angered by the second, and ran with their tails tuck between their legs with a blow on their egotism.

Yet, in every hesitation she would raise, Altria's choice will be no different. Camelot needed magic. Something the fairies' power can provide. The kingdom needs its assurance.

Especially Mordred; her little darling who could be taken away by her _mother_.

The stone on her stomach had been dwelling far anxiously these few weeks without Merlin. God forbid it, years would be the clause for the wizard to repair himself again to return back to her kingdom.

Morgan has spies, and Altria is not exaggerating to say that they might be _one_ of those who heard the wizard's absence.

She feared dearly for her cub, and God- she prayed, that the red stark in the sky a few days before have not been a bad omen.

However, it seems God had not heard her request, as the fairy bowed lightly before her, refusing to accept the task.

"I humbly apologize, Your Majesty," Esmeralda smoothly reasoned, still hiding her feelings within her bangs covering her eyes. ",but as much as I like to partake in the objective I was offered, my capacity to wield my magic is not on par of that with the greatest wizard known."

Altria sighs yet again, nodding her head for the fairy to resume.

"I am but a defect of my kind, Your Majesty. I tire easily from a single spell I could cast, and it is not both labeled as defensive or offensive charm; merely an entertainment to my child."

"Raise your head, my lady." Altria soothes, closing her eyes as the fairy did so; hiding the pain of disappointment on her part to realize it sooner. "If I would be inclined to pursue more than I could grasp, I am indebted you have been truthful to spoke your wisdom of your enchantment. Few would agree on the responsibilities and trust I gave too easily, bloated by their arrogance that I kindly do not accept."

"Failure to complete my job is much painful than admitting that I can't, My Lord." Esmeralda agreed, smiling sadly. ",If I could, I would. I am sorry for being a disgrace. Mayhap, there are others willing to accept with their skills on par with their tongue. I hope for a good fortune for your search, Your Majesty."

Altria frowned at that. She might see the fairy as humble or polite, but her words implied no self confidence in her spine.

"Please, none of that. I am not comfortable seeing a women degrade herself as such." When the fairy tried to interject, the king raises her hand in a propitiating custom. "You must see yourself dependable, my lady, for your past experiences had speaks resilience deep with your soul. Alas, men are compelled to protect women, yet women stands above men. They gave life as you did and gave new future of generations for the world to continue. Politeness is granted, yet humble to the point you let your self be stepped upon is mostly insulting for many women who respect you." She chided, typically shock when the fairy flinch at her words, a clear simmer of disdain in the taut grip of hands.

Altria internally pat herself. It seems Esmeralda has something else after all.

Not too dwelling on embarrassing the fairy, Altria asked for an opinion or any familiar person Esmeralda could advice to assist Camelot in its dilemma when she inquires.

"What of the Knights, Your Majesty? I am assured that the Knights of the Round Table are fit to protect anything they are loyal to."

"I am confident that my Knights can do anything in their power to protect the land. However, beast of a magical origins? Not much so."

"Who would unleash such things?" Esmeralda tilt her head to the side, as Altria grew apprehensive when those purple eyes gave a spark of wisdom- intelligence the King had avoided to be focus in. "Camelot are known to be the kingdom of an undefeated king. Surely no one would compel to do ghastly doings that might inflict huge impact to their legions."

Altria did not respond, teeth pressed firm against each other while her cold expression turns dangerous. Esmeralda waited for her answer. Silence foretold the query like a willow echo of ghosts.

Alas, the fairy's eyes widen in realization and Altria let loose a deep sigh and a glint on her eyes.

"You realized who I implied to prevent in this objective, I hope?" the king asked, almost failing to keep the tiredness from her voice.

Esmeralda bit her lip in concern, eyes erratically turning from everywhere, as if cogs and screws are operating to find plausible distraction.

The King willed it, silence reigning like a cold fire to her Study, contradicting the start of chilling winter- closer to danger.

At last, the fairy drew a breathe, shuffling her foot in concern, before resolutely gazing at Altria's own; _determination_ burning that the king do not have an idea where it came.

"Requesting to speak, My Lord?"

"Granted."

The fairy obliged, seething from the insides from the terrible feeling in her heart. "I would…. If it is not imposing, is there a reason you are certain the Dark Witch will grasp these opportunity to breach your kingdom?"

Altria debated.

Esmeralda is a good woman, more so than the queen when it comes to shame and propriety. Yet it could mean leakage of information, which Altria doesn't want to reveal if ever Mordred would hail as the next to her throne. Undoubtedly, there's no room for arguments, thus; she smoothly drawled the name of her cub- freezing the fairy with the spin of tales that happens within many years.

"Then… might I propose a guardian of sort, my King? It is relatively obvious the animosity the Dark Witch garnered might not focus on devastatingly making the kingdom crumble, but to take the child with her."

"And the guardian would be?" Altria raise a brow, but before the fairy could speak- laughter resounded down the halls and gasp of astonishment comes after, before the door of her Study was kicked open, by a brunette of a child and a-!

Altria let the hinges of her jaw fall.

"Presenting," Weiss spared a small nod to her mother, before bowing to the King with an incredulous swift, smirking in her fringe. "Princess of Camelot, heiress to the throne; Mordred Pendragon."

And let it be said, the heaven fall in grace, as the child the King and fairy was discussing, enters the room with a huge tint of rose hue on her cheeks.

She do not wear powder nor stains on her face; natural beauty, hidden in her brash mane. Her locks which usually perceived as rogue and unkempt was brushed into aptness just like her father's; bun and neat, with a set of small braids encircling the side of her head and a white rose tucked in the middle of the ribbon holding the hair in place.

Yet, the intriguing part is how Mordred is clothed, that much made the King check. The little hatchling wore an elegant red roses embroiled into tidy white dress. The high collar ensnared comfortably on Mordred's neck, with a single live rose clipped on the side. Softly patterned, the Pendragon insignia was like a shadow of red color that dwindles at the prospect of the light's direction, like a live dragon protecting its dame.

The dress is not too frilly, but certainly more feminine that her cub could ever wear comfortably. Stopping at the top of her babe's knees and having no sleeves substituted by white fingerless gloves, gave an undeniably new fashion, befitting just _her_ little sweetheart.

Her little feet, bare as it was, were defined more fragile and pink, as white opened toe type of sandals and high laces that swirls and snared tight on little legs creates an innocent yet mature look of a simple less than a decade year old girl, complimenting her form.

 _She resembles Lily,_ Altria thought in awe. The time passed yet the image of Altria's rested twin is still engraved on her mind, seeing the silhouette of her sibling next to the child. So similar it actually pains the King to recall.

Yet here is her princess, barely a female with her impetuous attitude but Altria's little girl nonetheless.

It should be a sin, this pride Altria's having; but she did not complain. In fact, she indulged it, very much so.

"F-Father…" The babe greeted with pristine grace, beauty and flourished of femininity and curtsied like a professional royalty. "I-I have come to…. T- to seek your a- approval…. Is… is it… Do you like it, Dada?" her inquiry had ended by a mere buzz, insecurities radiating solemnly out of her core, as the apprehension to displease Altria simmered down any power the cub snapped in her disposal; just so she could see the acknowledgement she deserved.

And just like that, the stubborn tension on the King's shoulder ease up instantly, replace with a quiver, resulting from a very serene laugh vibrating in the room like a sonata from Avalon.

 _Let Mordred handle the dread and banished it from the very depths of Tartarus_ , her wife said once- and it was proven true, as the rosy tint of her child's cheeks burns brighter, as she swept the baby in her arms, her chuckles hidden in her darling's pristine bun.

"….. Adorkable."

"So… y- you like it?" Mordred's eyes shine with hope, shyly meeting the warm gaze of her father.

"More than you could imagine." The King agrees.

"U- uhn….. Do… d-do you think I look like Mama now?" the child asked cheerily, while the King gave her a short nuzzle, pressing her lips on her forehead.

"…Only one way to find out." the King murmurs with so much love, straightening her poise and striding the hall with purpose, head held high as the babe tuck an embarrass head on her collarbone, whining to the world and leaving the fairies to their own.

"You truly are dramatic." Esmeralda deadpanned, yet quite grateful on erasing the pressure in the room.

The babe raise a single brow without expressing her amusement at her orbs, replying; "I saw the opportunity. I take it."

"Seriously, beloved," the mother laughs, caressing the babe's neck in jeer; voice sultry to prove her point. "You spent so much time with Sir Dinadan. What will I do if your innocence wavered because of him, hm?"

"He's not into maidenly quest," Weiss shrug her shoulder with triviality before simpering at her mother. "…. besides, I live to serve my _Master_."

* * *

Huffing in absolute wonder, the queen hums a gratitude to the militias closing the door of her child's room.

She is hoping to surprise Mordred with a few treats she no doubt will consume without hesitation, but was quite sadden, for her hope was dashed off by a small apology, depicting the child's absence for long.

It had taken her many days to organize a free day to waltz freely out of her Study without any prompting left from any individuals she nay listened with. Thankfully,- _Guinevere pouted at it_ \- Altria has maimed the chore on her hands, not a single instant did she faltered as a redemption to her _inner self's_ way of teaching their little babe to learn graphic ways of perusing objects to insult others.

Imaginative as Mordred could be, the prospect of cussing without depredation would cause feud of beliefs inside her head. Guinevere would have none of that, even if Altria had taken her **beatings** quite openly, bordering masochist.

So, with a smile like no other, she sauntered in, only to appear in disappointment, a fleeting pout on her place.

She missed playing with the cub, only to subside the growing wooziness in her heart. Being queen is rather difficult, in a way she was an object of scrutiny by the basics of failures to correct her in. However, none will drawl her out. She knew where she misleads, so there's no reason for it to be slapped on her face.

Being a women is grim, a wife of the King at that. So much complicated beliefs, so much inferiority. Guinevere wished for a better future, where girls would be seen as equal to men- not just for the continuation of human race, but as a partner- drawn by the God Himself. If ever, female could be seen superior than men- but she dispersed her thoughts in instant, there's so much bitterness in one day.

Her walk was brazenly halted, however, as a warm hand covers her eyes suddenly. She grew rigid, but eased up the moment she inhales the familiar scent of her husband, now tying a soft cloth on her vision.

"Dear, I would be grateful if you do not surprise this old nag." The queen jested, placing her palm at Altria's own, holding her waist.

"What's with women's small honor these days?" Altria complains- if ever it could be one- with her voice neutral and low. "If you are an old nag, then what of me?" she asked then, softly guiding the queen in a place one is awaiting.

"An ancient hag." The queen replied. She 'eep!' as Altria's fingers dig closely to her sensitive rib, an alarming mockery at the tip of the amused king.

"Oh? Am I now? Then God had blessed us to meet one another. Mayhap, that's the reason we are wed."

"Hush you," the queen chided, a chuckle comes right on her husband's mouth. "I am but thirteenth winters since you asked my hand on marriage. Decade of void and seven years of love. How could I ask for more?"

"If I willed it, those decades should thaw." Altria murmured in remorse, before stepping aback at her wife's comfort and unleashing the eyes to the world.

Perturbed, Guinevere blinks her eyes in wonder to find a small banquet in a…. _come to think of it, where is this place hiding in our castle?_ The women thought, placing a foot after another to the rosy garden of blue and white, with a grass trimmed too low, drawn as a floor to squash dirt to any footwear.

"Where is this place, dear husband? How could such flowers bloom at harsh winter?"

"Ah," the king nodded in understanding, placing one lone finger to a close blue rose and flicking it as periwinkle dust comes forth from it. "Highly condensed magical place. It was Merlin's training ground, until the flowers bloom prettily. He had search for a new place, not wanting to hurt such beauty."

"And what of the warm? It is in a middle of winter."

"Barrier, though I loath to say 'greenhouse', or so Merlin would like to always spoke."

Finding herself being pushed by Altria, where a set of teas and sweets are lain, ready to be consumed by any moment, snuggled at a huge sphere shaped blankets atop a marble table, with three sets of chairs to be drawn.

However, her smile are blunted raw, as a little girl bounded at the set of open canyons of high trees of white powder from the early snow, having a set of flowers in her hands, held together by small vines and wide leaves.

"Mordred?" she gape, reasonably so! Her daughter is enchanting! And she look so familiar to a friend she once called lover. But… no! She digress, her child is wonderful, from her practiced gait and soft pads of her lithe feet.

And with that secured from the box of secrecy, Mordred drew forward and raise the flowers in greeting- the huge blush on her face unnoticed, as a great expression of joy rides the queen's smile close to her eyes.

Supposedly chastising the babe for hiding this feminine side of hers, Guinevere set it aside as Mordred was just too adorable to be mad with those cute eyes gazing at her with hope.

"Oh, darling. Thank you!" she hushed, kneeling down and pressing her lips at the babe's temple, before bringing the bouquet in her face, smelling the sweet scent.

"What brought this on, my love?" she then asked, quietly interested as the child whine and shuffled her feet some more, chittering in embarrassment, before she mumbled, too low to be heard.

"I apologize, dear. Could you repeat it for me?"

"….be…. ke… ma."

"Mordred?" she wraps her arms at the dressed up babe, looking at the ground in sadness.

Then, with a mighty sigh, the babe sniffs, solemnly looking her mother at the eye.

"I'm sad…. Dada, I always been compared, but with Mama I don't."

Silence reign as the two parents went stiff, making the child continue in their silent prompting.

"So I dress like Mama, so anyone could say I'm Mama's daughter too. I want to be like Mama too." A single tear fell, and the child sobs her morose heart to her trusted persons. "I can't color my hair. I don't have Mama's sunny eyes. I won't have her wit. I am nothing like Mama… so I'm sad, 'cause I think _Mummy_ deserves to have some trait on me. But I can't. I look too m'ch 'ike _Daddy,_ I 'ct l'ke _Daddy,_ and I'm scared 'cause there's _no Mummy in_ _ **me,**_ yah know _ **.**_ "

With the revelation haunting the king, the queen burst forth in with a sob of her own, embracing the child tightly, cocooning her with love.

"Shh. Shh, hush my darling," the queen cooed, smiling in joy nonetheless. Even the truth hurt her most. Mordred should never found out the reason behind her worries. "You need not to disguise yourself as such, my love. All you have to remember is where you belong and who you are. There's no reason for you to think if I deserve as such, because being _yourself is enough._ "

"But-!"

"No buts, my love." Guinevere nodded in the crying child's pout, easing the knots in her throat with a semblance of her overflowing love. "If you found it difficult to accept that I have no such thing within you, then pray for the morrow, for I will do your job for you."

"How?" the baby sniffs. The queen mysteriously smiles, kissing the tears away.

"You'll see."

And just like that, a new dawn has come- with a huge incredulous gasp from everyone, except to the king who sighs in exasperation and the baby jumping up and down in joy.

"Like what you see?" the queen winks at her husband, before she sat at her babe's front, already reaching out to her bleach _**blonde**_ hair.

"I should have never asked." the king murmured, patting the queen's head with a fond smile.

* * *

Author's Note: Oh yea, oh yeah~! Hello readers, fine and ugly weather of sun, isn't it? And would you look at that, we're closing on a day where Mordred will look like in Apocrypha series, if not a little less brutal and a little more adorable. Tsundere perhaps? Dandere? Kuudere Mordred is fine too but… meh, who wants that?

The garden looks like that of Raven's brother in Pandora Hearts by the way, and Mordred's dress looking like white Lolita or gothic fashion with less frills.

 **Just to clarify, no? Extra: Grand Order's main character Mordred Pendragon is not Altria's daughter. They are Arturia's the same as the Mordred of Apocrypha, but with different beginnings and summoning; Mordred of Apocrypha was first summoned by Shishigou Kairi, and Extra Grand Order's Mordred was first summoned by Hakuno. Mordred of DORAC is the entity inside APOCRYPHA Mordred, get it?**

It's kind of confusing when people will mistake DORAC's main character into GRAND ORDER's character. They are connected but… come on. It's not that confusing, right?

If so, please tell me, and I **will rewrite it.**

Into the reviews;

 **ZenoZen:** Yay pal! Thank you for the constant reviews you are having. I had a time in my bag, so I update early for all of you. Enjoy it, if you will.

 **Amerdism:** Yeah, honestly- I am having a hard time writing chapter 11 for the purpose of making someone laugh, totally. I'm thankful you get the drift so easily on the wanky tone- I replayed it, over and over in my head when I'm so shrewed with life. Yes, Alter Altria is nice- sensitive and a true fucking father. Unfortunately, having tons of series rooting in this story might be difficult, 'cause it will take years to do and many brainstorming going on. I believe I can't do it on my own, since I vary on writing styles and it seems complicated to mesh the real thing with this story. Guinevere might be a _Caster_ , but I like to preen her as a Ruler type, you know. Servant still, but she commands them with words and encouragement, befitting the rank.

 **Akasha Bloodriver:** Hello, and thank you for the advice my friend. Our private message would be dig behind closed doors but I hope you won't mind if I ask for another or two for your advices, right? Ahehe~

 **Fid99:** Fid! FID! I missed you, buddy! Sorry if I'm not opening up in Discord, but I'm glad you're still reading my story! Anyway, nice seeing you again my friend, lots of cheers for you!

 **JimmyHall:** Oh, you didn't mean Merlin? Yeah, okay. Altria can't die yet, she's the main character. Fucking anime logic.

 **Miguelguiliano. Co:** thank you~! Here's another for your wonderful support.

 **TheHatter1:** I'm practically in turmoil if I want to write the part where Guinevere will punished her but… eh, makes anyone wonders is all that matters.

 **Stratos263:** It's not really a festival per se. Festival means the people are celebrating the death of a person or saint and… huh, you know what? Festival sounds good.

 **Gcohen:** Wow, thank you. And I need Altria and Guinevere fluff also, add a little blonde rascal on the mix.

 **Numbering:** Hey, thanks for the suggestion. I'll totally do it. Just not right now, since I'm researching every single knights and personalities so they won't be differ from the original.

 **Ghul:** I hope I could, but time might not make it plausible, you know? But I will try my best, maybe a crack up chapters for Fate Zero? Nah, that would be too horrid.

 **OSIRIS VALENSKY:** Hello, fellow reader! I hope you don't mind, I don't know if google translator is accurate and all, but thank you for reading this with your optimistic review. Mordred is innocent and adorable, yeah. Can't you see she's not at the peak of her prime?


	13. XIII: Lost

Guinevere stopped in wonder, gazing at the sunset breeze softly rustling beautiful hair on intricate bun.

There, sitting with the silence, above the mass kingdom, stood her child. Mordred give no indication she was being watched, but rather, has a far out look in her eyes Guinevere could not place at her usual cheer and clumsy grace of growing into a fine woman. Still, unnerving as it is, Guinevere glide outside to hold the intriguing picture, standing beside the babe.

Mordred, a mere eight winters, has the blessings of the God for her immaculate beauty. The sunset gave her hair a halo of frame, alighting her forming curves and softly kissing her flawless skin. The queen simply smiles.

She looks down at the ground and tried to smell the floral shifts of wind over the musk and other appalling stench wafting everywhere. How someone could stay here without issue is beyond her, especially to her daughter with a nose akin to a lion.

Even yet, the child made no movement to acknowledge her, staring into space, even as the sun falls so the moon could graze the galactic beauty above.

She failed to recognize the pattern, of how Mordred grew more cold. Many weeks had passed. Many hours have grown. Yet Mordred has been so out of the reality as often as she was in bliss. Always staring at the horizon. Always mulling with her thoughts.

"Mordred?" growing worried, the queen nudged the blonde with her warm hand, cupping her chin so they could look eye to eye.

Alarmed, Mordred blinks at the brownish- orange orbs of the queen. "…. Mother?" slowly, she straighten- looking at her surrounding like it was the first time.

Guinevere perfect a _smile_ , forced herself to relaxed at the tensed muscles uttering the word inflict upon her. "Your thoughts race for miles, beloved. The dusk arrives and the meal awaits us."

"Is that so…" distracted, the babe take one last look at the horizon before giving a small apologetic grin. Handing her arms up, Guinevere complied and pulled her close on her chest. Still a small bundle. Guinevere's babe.

"Mother?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Do I have any relatives other than some of the Thirteen Kings?"

"…. You do." Guinever softly validated, but her eyes betrayed the pressure on her heart. "My ancestors are of Roman culture. I have their beauty, but my heart is with Britain."

"Is there any other crest close to our own?" the child's voice was muffled, but the hint of vulnerability in it is much more defined.

"You have my mother's side of fame, my father and your grandfather- Laudegreaunce's banner was unquestionably awaiting their grandchild. Wledig would welcome you on their pose as well. Your grandmother's family is coveted to loyalty, many years before."

"What about _Le Faye_ , mother?" and with that, the queen almost tripped.

"Where have you heard such name?"

"Around?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she did not sound hoarse nor panic. Though she stopped hearing the name, Mordred inclined her head to look at her mother with a frown. She forgotten Mordred can hear her delirious heartbeats.

"Le Faye? Do we have a relative with fairies nature? Is it attune to our blood from Emry's 'Lady of the Lake'?"

"I'm afraid I nay heard such family, beloved. Mayhap, it is an honor for the wood and water creatures who blessed us with protection. But no matter, it is a mere respect to us for them." Guinevere seethed, pledging to find whom uttered the word upon her daughter's presence. It is called confidential information buried in secrecy for a reason!

"Like nymphs and satyrs?" innocently, the child added, eyes breaming with unshed joy.

The queen fondly brushed the locks hanging on her neck, curling it securely behind an ear. "Liberties and politics you forgotten, but legends and myths you did not?" she step upon the side, deceiving her child with mere tease, hoping it would end the uncomfortable greetings of the rival's cursed name.

"Fairies runs within Lady Esmeralda's veins. Night walkers lure the moon in guise of a fellow traveler at night. Valkyries roam the mountains of ice with their brute of North. Amazons retained their island of history in books. Demons roam the earth with their deceit. Dragons are said to be myths. Father and I lived. Testaments of truth mother, no?" with those cue, Guinevere trimmed her patience; sadness creeping in.

She would never thought she missed it, the adoration within 'Mama' and 'Dada' littering the halls. But such days had gone and passed: Mordred change.

"If only you could be attentive enough to listen to me taught you ways of royalty. Now, come along child. Food should never be kept for waiting. The God's have blessed us with His treasures. We must simply abide to His goodness, hm?" she tried again, but now her voice spoke insistence. She hereby locked the annoyance on her chest.

"But 'Le Faye'-!" yet, draught it be naught. The fire licks her body, and she harshly sprouted what comes to her mind with a slammed of her foot to the ground.

" _Mordred_ _Lucinda Demetria Pendragon_." Mordred shut her mouth with a click. She eyed her mother, hurt dancing in her irises at her mother's stern face. Mother didn't use her full name without reason. Nor she saw her mother claiming it with irritation on her seething between perfect teeth.

Guinevere's gaze softened at an unimaginable rate, feeling the tremble as the babe recoil at her embrace.

"…. Food." At last, the babe nodded her head, resigned at Guinevere's guilt- stricken face.

The queen opened her mouth to apologize, but decide against it. She continued walking with her head held high, ignoring the burning stares of the militia's following them in silence.

Mordred grew morose, hiding, clutching a small patch of parchment at her left fist. She knew her mother was lying. She is calm on her own, childishly so.

But the thud of mother's heart speaks louder than her tranquility. There is something they are hiding from her.

Silently, she let the fist opened, flapping and guiding the wind to levitate the small object to escape her grasp. The wind complied, taking it away safely. Containing the words;

' _Morgana Le Faye: to you, Pendragon blood will bloom'_.

The paper flapped and flapped, and flew away…. Into the hands of Weiss down below.

The little fairy blinked and blinked yet again. She tilt her head at the sky in wonder. And Esmeralda gave her a questioning look.

Weiss bored her eyes to her safe haven, exhaling in disappointment to be spared a small paper instead of bread she inclined to reach to her mother.

"Daughter?" Esmeralda questioned, gently placing two warm arms at her child's waist.

"The sky gave a mission…" she deadpanned, clearly frustrated to the turn of events. "…. But I'm hungry. And I want my loaf of bread. Where is it?"

 _ **CHAPTER XIII: LOST**_

Altria stirred in her sleep, breathily downing the heavenly scent of her wife's snowy locks and the arm on her waist. Peeking up, the sun's rays graze her sensitive eyes for much longer than necessary. She greeted it, unabashedly, as it shown her unmarked skin, naked as she was born- flushed and molded beautifully upon her wife's.

She tried to endure making love to her queen, but her blood quivers in refusal. She could not delve in the innocence of her wife.

She could not make her a woman, for so she refused to be tempted by her scent. By her light. By her smiles.

In these moments did she quell her thirst of lust. Lush of temptations greet her, but the resilience to not harm her wife is greater than the pleasure.

Her desire to mark Guinevere as her 'own'- contradicting to the bond of the temple and the blessings of the church- indulge her senses; creating possessiveness which she nay addresses as hers before. Still, dragons mated for different reasons.

Companionship is the least of it, for some dragons are territorial and so abusively arrogant when they saw and seek the embrace of their Desired. They engraved marked at their dearest, wafting off scent of their ownership. Of beautiful creatures whom they gifted with jewelries and immortality over the expense of their freedom.

Fortunately, Altria's ancestors are one of the few; born and older than the dirt in the air; the water in the ocean and of civilization they knew. They find compassion and wonder, walking amongst human to learn themselves anew. They are smarter and more demanding, yet they have wisdom and patience. They could find love in a woman whom they bared heir with their blood. Where the offspring has their own. The family bears another. And another. And another.

They became famous. Glamorous by the dragon's blood. They led a small community into a village. A town. A city. A kingdom- spreading far across with their gallant bearings and grand powers imbedded in their bones.

Luther was born, of love and dignity. A pride of the furies roar.

Morgan was welcomed, of raped and a night full of one side passion. A betrayal and death reborn.

Altria was created, of infidelity and shameful snogging of another wife's. A hope hidden in muck and deceitful honor.

But with every tyranny, cruelty and differences of characters of the dragon's scions- their thirst as the mythical creature never dimmed.

Altria is a dragon.

And now, she has her own.

Her sweet daughter, Mordred- born in vengeance and hatred of her real mother, and a fretful father- diluted to the hope for the unrecognizable future.

And with a child, comes the humanity inside; a love for a wife. A woman she would gladly cleave her heart to bring timeless lives and blissful immortality.

Altria needed Guinevere, so much as the queen in equal fervor and cheer. But insecurities bloom. Doubt fills her heart.

And so she gripped the urges with a deathly confidence. Once she knew how to take Guinevere's life as her own, and not because her dragon _desired_ for her as an object to display. A treasure to be kept.

She is her equal. They are the other side of each coin.

She tried to extract herself to Guinevere's embrace, but the grip tightens on her waist; a full blown combination of pout and frown littered Guinevere's beautiful frame. Who would've thought the cold, calculative and rarely- _threatening_ queen could be quite as cuddly as a bear's cub in winter moors?

She lightly sighs in contentment, running soft fingers at her wife's cheek. The face soften, and silently, the king went away to the mirror, dressed again as a man. With a small goblet, she chased dark and irking ale on her throat and a common folk's cloak to hide her face.

With a dab of oil and dirty flicks of grime here and there, the cloth was set as a farce; so unlikely of her immaculate royal sashes and robes.

The short happiness had passed. It is time to be another person yet again. Altria have so many things she wanted to implement at her kingdom, but she must see for herself if it is all worth it in the end.

With a bit of transformation to any basic magic Merlin had fortunately being forced to taught of, is to change her hair color into a fiery red close to mahogany tree and blindingly brown eyes in a frame of six foot of a healthy man on his early thirties. Freckles adorned every inch of skin visible, and quite a sideburn grow close on chin.

Gone was the semblance of the King.

Gone was the name Altria or Arthur; in place is Nicolas, a peculiar name for a peculiar objective running for many years long.

 _He_ would go into her kingdom unnoticed, to see the genuine interaction of the common folk to the others instead of the praise legions of soldiers had bask for a heart full return and fear of her presence.

With all his musing, he had rather spoil his child's fun as he spun an arm, catching the child diving on his side and hugging her; covering the slight giggles bubbling in that sweet little chest.

"I saw you!" Mordred triumphantly giggles, clutching the red locks straight, "Augh! Bleh! Eew! You reek of booze!"

"Shh. Your mother's sleeping still, my little fledgling." he soothed, smoothing out her braided blonde and patting her simple blue dress, voice solemn yet deep, like a rumbling ruffian on cabins. Mordred looks at her mother, an indescribable expression reach her face before morphing into another grin.

"But you stink, Dada. You smell bad funny and it makes my nose itch."

"If not with those ale, what wanton would have not smell as if I were bedded? This bodice burn of sin. It is a façade of true art, my love. Remember that eyes can deceive, smells can conceive."

Mordred crunch her nose in confusion, pushing Altria's face as she tried to exhale the appalling scent on her babe's nose.

"I do not know half of what you mean, but I still don't like it! You look like a hoodlum Emrys. Want some mint leaf?"

"Soon, when you grow older, you'll learn to understand what I'm telling you."

"Can I go with you?" Mordred pleaded, puffing her cheeks like an adorable pup. "I would be good! I can look like you if I have to!"

"Now that would be unfortunate," the king softly laughs, bopping the small cheeks. "When you are capable of reining your patience I mean. I would've not attended my duty willingly without thinking for your well- being. We cannot let you go without losing your way next to me, are we?"

"You tell me that but it was you whom always lost her road." The cub murmured, the words drowned by her father's guffaws like a joyful lion.

Yet her eyes gleamed.

Her father knew better.

* * *

She scowled all the way to the line of chaperons, carriages and horses' stables to lend her dear friend for a sweet rest. With a well- horrendous threat if ever something happened to her horse, that one limb between would tangle itself up in the air for many moons. And now, feet looping holes storming pebbles angrily and pushing herself on many a body of mongrels with their lame clothes, Vivian's day would not get better.

In hand, a parchment delivered by her close friend drew her normal days dimmed out of the darkness of her crushing words. She might have not bathed an eyelid when she was summoned as a guardian of sort, but the request is from her friend alone. No wonder interesting as it was to be a personal guard, she would slurped down arrogance with her proud heritage as a half witch and fairy, her heart was bound by her pledge of loyalty, to a friend who dearly gave her a chance to bond with her as potential mate.

Vivian is not a human- hater, but she fumed and lashed negatively when confronting them with steel of swords and backlandish naysayers of her trait. She is proud of what she is, and by far, humans are just pests littering the world with their heinous dumb lusts. Ugly babies are not her thing. She would kill them the first time she heard a whine.

She's evil, but she has an exception when it comes to love. Take little Weiss for example, for she knew the babe hate her just as much Vivian hate worming little carcass so.

What happened to them triggered the most vicious of imagination. Vivian loved and hated, and the _man_ did not happened to spend a day next to the Lady of the Lake. She took him with rage, the fairies Lady be damned, and slaughter the man as inhumanly slow as possible.

She was no ordinary. She's an ancient soul passing on waves of time. Call her immortal, but she knows her life had sapped into life and death. She perseveres when the world has turned into ashes, chiseled men and women were scared to death, and the intelligent monkeys formed their small brains.

She missed it, the perfection the world had once been. Only to be awoken on a deep slumber to find disgustful replacements to any beautiful humans gracing on earth. She was reincarnated, over and over and over again, with her memories intact; with her hatred growing into bitterness. But she find companions to the others whom survive the chaos of their own doing; supernaturals in hiding from the distasteful filths.

Once or twice, she would find gems on rocks. Beauty closer to the past, and honesty blessed by the moon.

Esmeralda is whom she was stuck into. Desired by her heart to be for as long as the world could sustain life for Neanderthals.

Esmeralda is many things for her, but concern for the well- being of others other than her child was not. Vivian's putty- though she will never admit it, Esme's call for help soared her spirits high. So with her staff drizzled as a small wand tucked beneath her long dark boot, her eyes shining in vehemence and concern for her Esmeralda's problems, did she stride with speed, closer to a run as her heart thump on her ribs.

However, one consequential problem was the direction. And people.

She dare not say it as a fairy thing, but the crowds are humongous- good for hunting and drilling curses when they suddenly bumped anything upon her person. It unnerve her, but she tried to ignore it, and walk and walk she toned a pattern.

The castle are roads away, so the cabins and err populations and banners hanging upon new streets dwindles her sense of direction, running it in circles. Not once did she realized a small stall of pelts grazing her way the fifth time that day.

Camelot, she once saw before. During the reign of Uther's great grandfather, Artirus. They had huts, less stones and walls back then. A few clothes too.

She walks and walk, as she dare not ask for direction- pride prevents it anyway, until a door suddenly opened, almost slapping her flapping black cloak.

Vivian stomp the scream from escaping at the back of her throat. Startled as she is, facing a man in a state of drunkenness; she held her palm up to pushed the handsome face away, and backs away to the small entrance, close to the prying eyes if ever the mongrel tried something indecent.

"Apologies." He drawled, eyes undeniably unfocused, but sincerity lace his voice. "Have I harmed you, young one?"

"Not at all." She nodded in affirmation, stiffed, disgusted, and studied the hollow stare with vex. "Yet it seems partly inappropriate to drink deep at the fine hours of morning, no? Not that I care, mutt."

"Ah, it is." He nodded, shaking his red locks with his rough hand. His muscles bulge in places, but Vivian has her eyes upon his. She's not into man anyway. "I hardly feel my toes, but I have an utmost faith in my ability that I will not create an event that will push me into dungeon. Some days still hunt me and a good ale were all it was that I thought."

Vivian slit her eyes in frustration. Dare she says the man looks more in dazed than she thought. She tried to step away, his clothing indicates peasant of the norm; only if she did not sought the feet placed upon earth.

They are perfectly stuffed on bear pelt type of sods, yet their distance is what makes her cautious. Slowly observing the man's stance, relax and opened, thus her fairy eyes saw the taunt muscles on guard. Transparent to human's vision.

She stared at it, and back at the indifferent face, on hold. Brown eyes lurked in wisdom, his voice humming a mellow tone.

"Astonishing. You have eyes of an ancient warrior." He said openly, even; authoritative. Gone was the slur, gone was the haze.

She dared not speak, but her magic calls for her to seek whom stands in front of her dismissively.

 _Dragon,_ it says and Vivian holds back a gasp as the man curled a genuine smile only for her.

"Welcome, dear guest. I heard you are expected by His Majesty to do your upmost task given by your _mahal_. Oh, how rude of me. Please, do call me Nicolas."

* * *

Weiss are on a mission, and that is to return to the castle unscratched. Just as she were to left the castle unnoticed, did she want to slip without being traced living the public archives with a parchment on her person. It should be easy, but men had it more challenging for her.

She despised them, just as much as they are wary with her origins and non- provoking stance. Men are filth, but she did wonder why humans let the world succumbed in patriarch law, if only they ever think a few and more with their small head below their unappealing shabby hairs.

And so thus her miserable grouching, where she slump down the dusty road, brown hood up to cover her frame, and simply watch the stagnant flower on interest, rather than the buzzing quirks of tones and atrocious odors coming off their bodies.

They don't mind her, and she was grateful to be ignored. She will wait even if the night falls if ever it would cost so she could see another ugly men's faces, or god saved her- mother will find her there.

Her pig- headed _father_ scarred her bare. She will not let it happened once more. So skin contacts to any unworthy scumbags are off- limits and should _back off._

Doing anything magical could lead to a pole and fire and her body burned to crisp. A far off town burned a babe with pointed ears and levitating things he wanted to hold. Another was ripped apart for they had red eyes that hunt dreams for days. Witches are defined as demon's spawn. Wizards are destined for greatness, until they were realized too late. A girl with an additional appendage is thrown at wolves den. An old man was beheaded by having a youthful face for more than six decades.

Winged creatures.

Half- human super naturals.

Human feared them all. And what that fear had done?

Anxiety. Elimination of one's race.

Weiss doubt Camelot as brutal as the other kingdom, but their ignorance to the royalty with overbearing bloodline of what should be truly feared was making her absolutely stupefied. But she still has to hide. Humans are…. Quite shallow like that.

However, it did come to her realization that she has a companion whom stayed with her for more than half of zenith, silently leaning on the hidden wall casually glancing at her.

If the gender matters, she would blast the eyes off the intruder for peering into her like that. But fortunately, blessed the heart where they did not give her a boy- whom greeted her is a person she knew.

"Why are you sitting upon dirt?" her voice is refreshing, but oh so not welcome to break Weiss' serenity.

"Awaiting men's extinction." Comes a short reply from her own cord.

She still hated being caught in a spot at all. Even though the girl is of her age, where they met when they are but younglings on the red street, set apart by unfortunate circumstances and met again by the fate's doing of reconciling loose ends, Weiss didn't like it. And she damn knows how to amplify her unease.

She stared at the scion with the most indifferent expression she could manage at the inquisitive gaze.

"I heard eyes are the windows of the soul. Yours are bland, as it seems you had rickety windows." A crack, then silence.

Weiss waited, throat locked up, stunned.

Mordred blinks far too many times, and avert her eyes immediately when her own words suddenly kick her head on.

She rudely insulted Weiss, but the fairy went far more secluded; for the words struck deep. Weiss has her respect to the blonde. She never back- track nor replace her words. The heiress to the throne just stands there, eyes leveled, accepting any mistakes while she speaks what she saws true. The childishness was gone, for it was reserved to her parents alone. Here, at side, the heiress looks more mature.

Like a persona. Like a mask hiding mask upon mask and lies upon lies.

The abomination of a _man_ shredded every hope longing unto it, and Mordred takes no pity; a child her age didn't see true evil yet. Just apathy; Weiss is in awe.

"The windows were bashed multiple times. I have no remedy, so it would remain broken." Weiss humored her, a single person who gave no outward reaction to her double meanings and sarcasm.

"No nails and woods to replace? They say storms can enter and destroy it up."

"Then it would look more horrid and bland."

"I bet doors would be a good substitute for it." The scion quickly added, smiling shyly at the slightly cloudy sky. "Where can we find one?"

"I don't know. You give options, I like you to recommend where."

"It will take time."

"Time is in our hands."

"It would take forever."

"No forever would be long when time willed it be."

"You're too lanky." The blonde outright laughed at the incredulity. She swerve the words not up and down where the conversation will going- but to the side. What a tact.

"You're too short." The fairy countered, closing her eyes to the satisfying remarks of a soul unbound.

"You're too funny."

"You're more than funny."

"And what is that?"

"Irritating."

"I'm not."

"You're an heiress. Should you be spoiled and act mighty than talk to peasants?"

"You're a fairy. You are a child of nature. Should I be rude if I chose to not?"

"You're a princess. I'm a servant."

"You're a person and so am I."

"Why are you talking to me?"

"The stars aligned."

"It's daytime."

"… You don't take romantic jests openly, do you?"

"I'm a jester, and romance is not my passion. You're too young. Romance is not words without real proof. Poetics are fools."

"…. You call me fool. You're weird."

"I am. Doubt it? Don't. You're here. Why?" rude, back hand and personal. Weiss stopped the tirade, compelled to be curious as the scion sheepishly glance here and there.

"…. I followed my f-… _friend_ and I…. well…" with a scratch on her nape, Mordred giggles adorably, grinning from ear to ear. "Mother failed to say markets could be so… crowded."

"You're sheltered."

"I'm not. Merely not informed." a refute. Weiss look more closely, trying to make the scion cave in without using any words. And of course, Mordred's barrier crumbled, and Weiss faintly sense the smug satisfaction but failed to addressed it to the physical realm.

"…. I'm lost." Was all the little princess says before she sagged, scuffing the brown boots to the ground on embarrassment, red blush adorning the nose.

"Lucky you. I am too." Another voice and Weiss can't help but groan inwardly, shooting a deadpanned stare at violet orbs, poking the little flower.

Mordred looks at the two in confusion, but her eyes betrayed the mirth swimming dangerously close to edge.

Vivian stared at the child with brown eyes.

Weiss stared back.

"Hello, Weiss. Care to greet me with a hug?"

"I rather die."

"Your mother will be lost without you."

"Better than living with you."

They were crouched into a tiny blooming floral at the side of a busy market, tuck close to the brick wall and far from the barrels of ale piled up on wooden planks.

Can't the world give her a peaceful day? Weiss prayed miserable, and is doomed as the scion drew near.

A single person is decent enough. One more is the problem.

Any contacts are a big refusal. Communicating without her Mama's secure embrace adds up to her sheer limbs undeniable shivering spree. At least Mordred is just a babe with intellect. Not a nosy lady wanting to rip her head.

She lifts a hand to block her eyes, as the fairy- her mother's best friend and _potential_ lover turned her head to the approaching blonde. She didn't dislike Vivian, but she could not tolerate her compassionate touches when her mother's not there to coach those hands away from her.

"How could an adult be lost?" Mordred asked childishly, cocking her head to the side. Another mask appears, replacing the cynical porcelain.

"I am no adult so far, mutt-" the so called heiress frowned in disgust to that. "- I am but mere… _fifteen_ reincarnation. And I am quite new to Camelot, but I was given duty to guard and protect your sparkly ass the moment I have step afoot on this land. Seriously, Briton could be so indecisive when it comes to royalties."

"My ass does not sparkle!"

"It will if you do so foolishly slip pass at the walls of castle yet again. I am sure your mother would incredibly appreciate hard work of spanking for one child."

"Mother will not know, for you will not say mere peep."

Weiss' eyes trained at panicking green, and bit back her tongue as a hand caress her hooded head.

"And why would I do that?" Vivian jests, sporting a challenging smirk. Something Weiss didn't like at the lady's face at all.

Mordred gave a sniff, cocking her nose high up. Ah, the spoiled one goes.

"Your duty is to protect me, is it not? How can you talk proud of giving me to my mother for punishment, if I can feel pain that you 'oh should have prevented? It's a big hole of poop for your failed guardianship, am I correct?"

"You slithering cunt." Vivian cursed, but the smirk dwindles into a savage grin. "Talk naughty, little baby. I do not abide into disrespectful cur, so you shall tread carefully~."

"You started it." come Mordred's response. Weiss mumbled 'mercy', slinking off the hand rubbing her like a pup. She looks down at the flower in her front, and sighs as a wistful and sarcastic statement drawls out her mouth.

"Ah.. friendship blooms." She tried to hide it. She really did.

But the two cracked their necks to look at her in disbelief, then stared at the flower keeping her gaze.

Disgust fills their faces, and Weiss scowled as she turned her eyes with a glare.

"It's my duty to see this _friendship_ of yours and mine bloom. Be grateful I'm a gardener, you better make it work."

"I thought you're a jester?" Mordred outwardly scowls in defiance.

"I can be both."

"How can you look into our argument as a start of friendship is beyond me, little Weiss." Vivian sighs in defeat, but take no acknowledge of it.

However, Weiss is stubborn. She'll make them pay for disrupting her normal life by being attached to future famous personnel.

"I'm a gardener, so I know if it will die or not. Look at this flower, I'm sure it will guarantee. This is our witness, if you two agree. Come. Grouch with me."

* * *

Dinadan loves fun and chaos, of journeys and adventures.

He thought everything should be more of open to their wistful joys, and freedom of expressing self by being what they want to be. Like many others, it have been smothered in policies and beliefs of confinement. Of government and teachings graved upon their heads since they were born.

He hated it, though he's part of what they have now.

So his guile bragging and court jests had start anew. A revolution of free spirits over the chains of submission to beliefs. No wonder many kingdoms did not develop easily, always stepping foot their ancestors tracks blindly!

Dinadan is no ordinary man though. He keep his trickery and creative mind implanting ideas of new and fiendish to the heads of those with wealth. Some knights question his logic, but few agreed to his underlying sentences with a decree.

He once drove the council mad with his gait of fun. Who would've thought five inches boots on a flurry dress could create a huge well fed marquises and duchess to puke at the same time. Ah, good times. He almost rolled in the floor at the majestic sight of the king's face crunch on disgust.

There's also a banquet where he give instructions to the servants to serve dinner with what he call _spoon_ and _fork_ when it was supposed to be a deep dipper to caught the soup. Then the wok full of slice pieces of pig than a full blown meat treaded to be wolf down with dirty hands. Seriously, if the king had not been part of his everyday plan, he would be hanged by the sheer idiocy of the snobs of a rich people by now.

Yet his words are no matter for them, but yet it brings seed to sprout for some time in many days to come. Dinadan is not an impatient man. He lived for fun.

And so, with his day refresh, and mind mumblings of old billing the skies still blue, did Dinadan first saw the three female grouch on the open.

He stared at them for a while, as three set of eyes challenged him to question what they are doing.

 _Intriguing,_ he thought. Many women would lay upon his feet to swoop them and cradle their wanton desires for him, but those eyes held no hidden intention or pure malice. Their eyes were bright, whether it's from their innocent spirit or the lack of charm his curse for being handsome produce. He respected them, and does his smile just express that so. He preferred none for man and woman when it comes to romance, at least, for a short while, perhaps the day would be brighter than the morning that passed.

The familiar green irises of his king's babe beckon him.

The brown haired babe of the fairy told different otherwise.

The violet eyed fairy in a high black ponytail gave him a scowl.

"And what, pray tell, are you doing down there?" he laughed, trying to subtly hide his hidden knife at his woolen coat. Thank god it's his off- day.

"Friendship memorial grouching." Came the monotone voice, reserved from the brown haired babe hiding in the shadows of the two shields.

"Oh, is it?" with a joy on his tone, and a bubbling chuckle came after, he stoop down to their level, sitting beside the scion and landing his bum on the road. "Then I shall join you then!" he stated, as he receive two disbelieving looks and one in resignation.

 _Ah, life. Can this day get any better?_ He rumored, equally oblivious to the same words in a sarcastic manner Weiss thought that day.


	14. XIV: Failed Attempt

_Mordred stirred on her slumber, lulled to wake at the soft hum of tone caressing her ear…._

"… _Mmuuuh?"_

 _\- Or so she claims as the hazy fog of her mind construct images too vivid to carry. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the hearth, rising as her sense seek the melodious voice in awe, glancing now and then to the darkness, before her eyes laid in the figure, covered by the satin curtains warding the balcony doors._

 _The voice fell quite spectacularly, giving enough rhythm that brings peace to one soul. It sounds familiar to Mordred, but she can hear the distinct echo of sadness in its tempo. So unnaturally absent when the figure presenting it to the world would gave her piece, like it was as solemn as its melody._

 _Mordred's mood turned sour, unhappy as she listened for much longer. Clutching her father's thick white cloak warding the cold, she heaved a silent force, giving orders to her limbs to suffer to the weight of her body._

 _She knew who the figure was. It was confusing as to why her mother would visit her at night when there's an ample amount of time a day and sang a song when Mordred's a few feet away._

 _The princess pouted._

 _Now she's jealous. Why is her mother not singing for her? Mordred admit, she's not quite attentive to her mother that often when the peculiar Vivian and the ever amusing Weiss plays fool of the council's ploy excites her to join them so. She is merry in their presence. Their adventure had lulled the isolation she has not too long ago._

 _She stand, intrigued, as she silently perch closer to the figure of her mother at the blind night: the moon's luminescence brings the ethereal visage of a goddess in mourning, white specked with blonde hums with great hue of enchantment. The queen's face plastered great sorrow, line of silver tears fell on her chin, eyes up ahead the heavens, and Mordred's heart is suddenly filled with great pain._

 _Why is her mother crying? Is she ill? Is she upset? Mordred's mind runs amok, her own lips trembling- as if sensing the deep longing behind the cries turned song._

 _With a purpose, she lunged at her startled mother, her green eyes defiant and concern. The queen quietly kneels, eye to eye with her babe. "Mother?" she whispered, cupping the queen's tear stained cheeks, trying to cleanse it off of the unwelcome liquid. "Why are you sad?"_

 _The queen gave a laugh, rough and irking: her throat closing of the retribution and turmoil inside her veins. Her surprised was muted, so thus the sobs accompanying the tears._

 _When she drew close- brow to a fiery blonde, Mordred's eyebrow grew taut. Mother's voice is still the same- quite, enchanting- and so awfully woeful…. But there's something to it, a familiarity that sets her on edge. It reminds her of the whisper on her head, the voice in which she remembers hearing when she's wearing the gorgeous armour her father had gifted. The babe boldly pushed her mother's face-_

" **Hello, Princess.** _"_

 _-Only to bit back a scream. Just like that, the veil of beauty was renounced and Mordred pushed in fear, stepping aback as the figure of her mother turns into a swirling dark, her arms bracing her impact to the floor._

" _Mo- mother?" she called, grasping the white cloak on her person, smelling her father's scent. She backs away feebly, away from the veil of flesh turning ashes._

 _Her mother stops murmuring. Her eyes smoldering maliciousness, glinting with steel. The voice that spoke clatters in malevolence, such as the thousands of other pitches rumbling in her wake._

 **CHAPTER XIV: FAILED ATTEMPT**

It is unnerving to rest while the night is silent as the mourning catacombs below is what the elf thought as she scrub her skin with scalpel, laden with oil with a hint of lavender scent.

"Shoddy castle. On what remnant of Thor's hammer did this dirt came from?" she murmured, finishing at last with a great huff of annoyance before staring up to the midnight twinkle.

Vivian would have drink of a sleep draught if not for the nagging sensation on her temple that fights the potion's effect. So there she was, perched on the stable's roof, neck crane to absorb the mocking sense of calmness in the luminescent form of rock.

The wind did not bother her there or the pesky insects biting her skin every time she compels to show skin. It is relaxing, the silence overpowering the crisp crickets and white noise ramblings in the distance and the crack of fire. The hoofs clanking in the ground creates a vibrating effect close to the crunch of the horses' teeth on their food, slow and steady- in no rush to complete their task.

The soft snore of the babe sleeping in a make shift bed of hay adds the vital fact of living species in rest, unprotected to the environment, so sure that she's safe at her haven.

The calm serenity is hardly a lullaby, yet Vivian can terribly agree that it was a beautiful peace for a short while. She even let the small pixies from the woods amused themselves, curling and braiding her hair in their jovial chattering, contrary to her unpleasant attitude of their mockery.

…. _Donkey's shit._ Vivian snorts, flailing her hair, upsetting the pixies before they scattered away with a shimmer down to their shelters. She gazed at the _mischievous lot_ before back handing their retreat with a childish huff.

However, it is also disturbing as it was a night of complete calmness- almost theoretically amplifying the _calm before the storm._ Vivian do not believe in peace, nor was she contented to prioritize satisfaction of what err a human's juncture of tranquility when the real danger stalks at the least moment the guards were lowered.

Such as the deceit from the believing words of protection from an absent wizard, Merlin.

The barrier protecting the kingdom is laden with traps. Not just traps, it is contingent of curse and detection to identify whom entered and exits the walls. The problem is, its Master is not present or specifically in hiding to lick his wounded pride. She must be given permission and acceptance by the magic, as is her forceful persuasion had rebounds or infinitely refused to answer her call of authority.

She had called it, time and time again, but the wizard's magic refused, and so was her incompetence to replace all with hers. She could not claim even a small spot of land inside the kingdom, as is the selfishness and power of the gone man. There are but two direction unprotected by the huge walls of Camelot, and that is the path facing the cliffs, and the second is the mountainous range of unsteady rock formation just far after a shod of forest wilderness claimed by the King's beastly pets.

No one dared come of it, as is the eminent death when they draw near those grounds.

So there she is, worrying every single night, perched and goner of her own mind, using her physical adept than her magical prowess to protect not only her lover's babe, but of her Majesty, the princess of the kingdom.

" _I have two conniving cunts to shoulder, one that is so damnable frustrating and the other who does nothing at all just to irritate me. I have only two hands, feet and pair of eyes, I have enough in my palette to defend your state_." She stated once, when she reported to her King. If only she refused Esmeralda's request then she would not be in the eye of tribulation, but as if she could turn down her loved one's promising plea.

' _I am getting soft.'_ She reprimands herself, sighing for the fourteenth that dusk.

Now, she who used her experience for the past weeks could not hide the gripping sensation of intensity, as the night rounds its time, where it pass without something attributing life and the sound was muted- as if the Death has come near their footsteps. The change seems languid, but with magic, it came like a bouldering storm of thundering doom.

The crickets stop, the white noise of yawn and snores went completely absent too, as Vivian floats down from her position, directly at the entrance of the stable.

Moments later, she tried to moved inside- hoping to hear the equines in their slumber and the breathing of her Esmeralda's little daughter… merely pausing on her heels when the silhouette of a cloaked figure jumped down a small balcony, carrying a bundle of something wrapped in silver sheet. Her first reaction was awe, as the balcony seems quite so high even for her. The second is incredulity, since had she witness a kidnapping first hand?

And then third is indifference, until it became a realization as her eyes blink in the seconds it processed the information.

She stared for a short while, turning to Weiss sleeping form close to the lighted torch and hay and turning again, her mind kicking in action. The pull of strings summoned her body to react, as her detection spell dipped to follow the silhouette running to the woods.

There are only two persons she have marked to be their warden- the sleeping babe in hay and someone wrapped in those silver sheet. Now that she runs for it, she recognize the King's cloak at the vivid shimmer of the moon as she made a mad sprint to the assailant, hands thrust above, guiding a swift loud explosion of violet light to the night, forming clues of reinforcement, with the word **"PRINCESS. INFILTRATOR. FOREST. NORTH WEST.":** hanging close to the stars.

"I'm a sorceress, not a damning Knight of deed GOD DAMN IT! I am supposed to be evil! When on Tartarus' cows did that change!?"Vivian howled, snarling dangerously close to the assailant, forgetting one single problem.

* * *

 _Weiss dreamed of a cold room, with the sunset on the peak of its slumber. Everything is stagnant- dry, as she stayed there, at the corner of the stone room- molding her figure in the shadow. The room itself holds no matter, plain and dusty- and absolutely inadequate to hold sanctuary for a human._

 _It is not the first time she walked upon the realm of dreams nor she hope it would be the last. Time is lost in this oblivion, whether past, present, or future succumbs to the will of the world of dark. Some called the people with this ability as 'Dream Walkers', yet the fairies much preferred to be called 'Watcher' or 'Seers' of Fate._

 _Weiss sees it as a conniving tale, a fallacies of myths and legends, but a truth nonetheless. She might not know the reasons behind everything she saw, heard and listened- it doesn't mean the improbable are impossible feat to acquire. It might be a huge revelation, the realm forbid it to be uttered nor be shared other that the people fated to have their gift._

 _Footsteps and loud assertions can be heard at the small balcony, open to the musky and dirty breeze. She takes a glance, and saw a horrendous formation of soldiers in black, taking precarious defenses to the advancing blue and silver knights with their banner raise. They were in a moment of confrontation, feet deep in slippery muds created by the damp fog and slight drizzle of rain._

 _Weiss thought she remembered the familiar insignia, but is caught surprise as a loud whimper rebounds to the walls._

 _What befell is something she could not fathom. There, upon the lone bed at the middle, did she wonder how the woman in the middle appear out of nowhere- or how Weiss could have missed it- as the blonde woman, with her hair almost close to silver draw a cloth on her head, legs apart and heaving with great pain._

 _The woman drew a deep breath, and with a mighty push- scream in agony as an object in her between appears, blue and bloodied- almost to the point of rolling down the edge of the small bed. The woman is much faster, cradling it as the satin sheets covering her blooms into a beautiful red._

 _The sweat on her face would not hide her satisfaction and beauty, nor did the blood scattered all the way down to her sheets. With a wave of hand, everything reverts back on place- clean and crisp. Not a single drop of liquid in sight._

 _The object on her arms began to shift, much to Weiss bewilderment. It moves and sniffs, until a loud wail broke the serenity of the room, bathing it with life and colors- a tune in harmony of nature._

 _Weiss stood still, eyes betraying her surprise, as the bundle with a turf of blonde hair open its unfocused teal eyes, gazing to the world for the first time._

" _Shh.. My little Mordred… mother's here now…" the woman hushed…. But it holds no compassion._

 _No warm._

 _Her eyes moved into where Weiss stayed._

 _Yellow._

 _Predatory._

" _It won't be long now….."_

Weiss woke up with jolt, coming into her sense as she buried her face on the hay she laid.

Her throat is parched and her clothes clung to her body in a sweaty mess. The dream still sends shiver on her spine, as if the nightmare is a phantom ready to strike.

Blinking the sleep away, she sluggishly rolls as the snout of a great beast pressing on her head grew frantic, lest she wants to walk out the stables with cut hair. She blew a snort to the great beast, the King's horse, thanking it with a pat and an apple to quench its curiosity before moving out with great ease. Dawning the ball of miasma at her trousers, Weiss moved in the crack of nightfall, barely missing the huge trident clumsily tossed between buckets and wooden planes.

She would have forgotten her dreams if not for the huge explosion that enters her ears with pain. She looks upwards, to the dazzling explosion of royal color at the midnight galaxy, before the words flies trough her head.

The princess is missing.

A thump of her heart shatters her indifferent gaze, in place of the fast and continuous frantic beats. She puts her hand on it, confused and afraid of…. _Something_ she could not place.

She inhaled the air, _breathing_ the scent of who gave the warning, hitching as she recognize the presence of magic in the breeze.

' _Vivian…?'_ She tilted her head in contemplation. If she remembered correctly, northwest has no forest, it is patch with wheat and grains of Camelot towards a wide berth of cliffs. _'She is terrible of direction. She had clued wrong. Vivian… what have you done?'_ she pursed her lips into a thin line, displeased when the castle's trumpet horns in alarm, unaware of the false hint.

"Should I help? But I'm just a child…." she stopped whispering, breath caught on her throat as men filtered her vision.

She blindly scoots over as armored infantry almost pivoted in her direction, pressing herself to the stables wooden planks, tensing when some drew uncomfortably closed, banking their horses and heaving their equines with a great command. They yelled orders with torches in hand, ruffled and half- sleep, looking at the message on the sky, almost unreadable from the time that passed.

" _The princess is missing! The princess is missing!"_ Weiss curled on herself, a sense of something unsettling on her stomach made her glance at the wilderness close, wishing to drown the rough voices of the militias lurking around. She quickly hid her ball of miasma, and running to the nearest masculine female on the far side of the lawn.

" _Someone took the princess! The guards on patrol were missing on their post!"_ the female shouted, directing orders from the foot soldiers.

"Ser Falline." she called, straining on her tiptoes to gather the Knight's attention. At the very least she would tell the women of the misunderstanding, hoping the knight would listen to her clear.

The Knight Falline did saw, kneeling in front of her with ease. However, as Weiss open her mouth to speak, the knight place a hand on her head, halting her on track.

"Dear, you must go and find your mother. The night is dangerous for someone like you." She chided, focusing her gaze far ahead, seconds before barking an adult insult.

"Ser-!" she was cut off yet again, as the knight shove her gently, not even bothering to know if she agreed on finding her mother, before Falline runs away, sporting her horse directly to northwest.

"Adults, so full of themselves…." She hoarsely sneered, bitter and displeased. Weiss would have put the knight to the unpleasant category, but the time is running short. No one would listen. She is just a child. She looks around, but men dominated the ground, not even her mother is on sight. She looks far to the east, where she saw the start of the maze like forest down to the wilderness.

She doesn't have a choice.

Mordred is missing.

Vivian had asked of assistance.

They are companions, what if they were to die?

' _I have to do something.'_ Her conscience filters, biting her lower lip as a pulsing sensation threatens to blur her vision. She didn't know where it came from. She did not know where this yearning had even started, but the conclusion is clear as the moon.

She must save them.

She have to.

But she is just a mere child. What could a lump of burden do?

She have no built to slay and protect herself from bigger human. She has no clue as to how to trail a long passed scent. Magic is all she have, but sometimes it's been a coward too.

A growl cut off Weiss' musing, coming from the dark across from her. Two pair of slit eyes greeted her, and the fairy _almost_ smiled, staring at the felines.

"Lionas…. Vladimir.." She called, patting the pelt of a huge lion, the King's pet, sauntering on her front, purring on her outstretch hand. The lioness, Mordred's favorite kitten, scoot close to the male, and Weiss gave a small relief of breath, gazing at the horizon, thanking whoever on heaven who gives very intelligent felines on her tail.

"Will you follow me? Will you let me bring you to your little cub _Morry?_ " she asked softly as she earned a response of a great mighty roar.

* * *

It takes a few muffled footsteps to break her concentration before a huge slam breaks the table in two- a table which last in decades, passed to generations and offspring of predecessors alike, but no body was returned in her haven. Not even her building temperature draining the cold could fear those who steal in her own castle.

No child of hers was found and no comfort would entail her foreboding oath of murder. It simply must not.

Altria breathed down her rage, hoping to drown her throat with old dark ale: along with her emotions battling and beholding gestures of a rampant dragon. She twists the cap and drew a goblet on her person, inches away from her nose. She was seconds on downing it, but the image if her wife's disapproving gaze stops her gesture, postponing enough where the liquid from the chalice fell on her clothes, meshing disdainfully into a muck sort of color.

Then, a wave of nausea and disgust fills her lungs, as she threw the offending object, trying and failing to drank from the jar of awful ambrosia- until that too, was a splattered mess on the wall. A hesitant knock rapped into her closed door, almost afraid to enter if she gives permission.

She answered bluntly. "I am indecent," _to be seen. To have a conversation. To meet you._ The person behind the door is not a mystery, but Altria could not take any presence for once in fear of unleashing battered curses to the poor soul. Its eminent softness spoke of gentleness, of that of a woman than a lanky man. Their breathe was even, calm enough to be familiar of her anger- comfortable enough to meet the breath of a dragon's ire on their neck. They may be concern to the aggressive sounds she had created, but Altria lacks the right emotions to play coy.

"It is I, dear." Guinevere's voice answered for her: equally exhausted. In pain.

"Have they found her?"

"… No. The Knights were on their way to the market, summoning the town's people for assistance."

Altria closed her eyes, willing any weakness to hide. She brushed her bangs out of her sweaty brow and put a dainty finger on her wet cheeks to hide the snarl permanently etch on her mouth. She slowly trace the small blue rose left on her child's room before she was reported missing with the Amazon's Tome of Flower Signs open in a page she dared not read twice.

Blue Rose: a flower given as a farewell. Of a person in Death's doorstep. A last good bye.

She tried pushing a palm up her eyes to hide the madness within… however, she merely saw the image of her daughter on her eyelids, happy and carefree: playing in front of her with no care in the world.

" _Dada! Wook! Ahm mon mon!" a two year old Mordred points at the moon, wiggling quite adorably in the confines of her arms. She almost fell when she tug a blonde hair to get her attention, wide green eyes full of joy._

" _It is a moon, yes." The father replied, nodding her head in amusement, as those baby limbs flies again, now pointing far beyond the king could see._

" _Muu 'ingdong! 'Indom! Dada 'ingdom!" the babe shrieked, grinning with her growing tooth. Altria bit back a smile, looking at her drowsing subjects, enclosed in their warm homes._

" _Our kingdom, my love. 'Our' Kingdom."_

" _No-whh! Dada 'ingdom!"_

" _So you say I lie?"_

" _Yay!"_

The images are replaced, taunting her and flittering concerns from the well- being of someone so loved. So dearly close to her heart.

" _Open up, beloved." Altria lift the tiny spoon for the three year old Mordred's face, but the baby pouted, turning her head away._

" _Nuuuuu!" the babe bellowed, pouting as she shakes her head from side to side with the king's hand following the consistent avoidance, her own brow furrowed in apprehension._

" _You barely eaten your first try, daughter. You must eat it to grow strong." She softly told, caressing the fat baby cheeks._

 _Bewildered green eyes shed tears, vigorously doubling her efforts to get away from her father's lap._

" _Nuoooooo! Bad! Moded dot wanna! Babie dot wanna!"_

" _Why do you refuse your meal? I have cooked it myself for you." The king looks puzzled, earning the muffled guffaws of her queen at her side, leering at her with an intensity of a cat's mischief. "What?" she asked, only to cringe as the queen laughed harder, tears already shining at the rimmed of her eyes._

" _Oh, darling husband. Culinary skills are not your forte. Mordred can attest to it." Guinevere chuckles, pinching the babe's pouty frown. "Is that right, baby?" she then questioned the squirming babe, who stopped and stared long to her father, before flooding Altria's dress with puke._

" _Oh come on, it is not_ _ **that**_ _ill quenching." The king mumbled, pride burned so low._

….. Then another…..

" _Dadaaaaa!" the five year old blonde cries, abandoned and twisted in a flurry of blankets, indignant annoyance clearly spoken while beads of sweat drops down reddish cheeks. She looks like a filling, rolled and pinned in white bread of pelts and furs._

 _The king shakes her head in exasperation, searching the tail ends of the blankets smothering her cub dead._

" _On what diluted reason had you thought bringing blankets could ward of winter when you are place outside your bed?"_

" _But the snow's gooood! I like watching them! But Dada, the blankies killing me! I want out!"_

" _The garden's not a safe place to sleep unattended, young one. I told you many times."_

" _Oh come-! Dada!? Dada, something's biting my butt cheek! Is it a thorn?! Is there a worm!? Dada, hurry!" the child wailed, oblivious to her father's smug smirk, pinching the buttocks raise high, amusing herself as the babe wiggled in her failed fort._

The king heard a long, almost whining howl of a dying animal. And a thunder. And a boom of trumpet on war.

Altria soon realized it had been her queen, her own doing- her animalistic yearning for her daughter. She stared as she unclenched her scorched hand, buried deep into the rest of her chair, gripping parts of the wood on her clasp.

"Altria…. Pray not we lost her… but I hope I will not lost you too." the queen _plead_ ,sobs rocking that soft melodious voice, desperation in the back of those sweet tongue. Altria drew strength at her babe's phantom smiles, before she smoothly opens the door for her wife to rush inside to embrace her, cradling on their moment of weakness.

"No one will be or is lost. Not my love or my daughter, Guinevere. Forgive me if I denied you the companionship you needed. Truly my wife, I give my apologies _._ " She gently cradled hips, sunken eyes bleary in its tired and hollowed grim.

The broken room no matters. The wet trails on their faces are ignored. No one would have seen their monarchs in feeble shreds of brokenness. None would see the complete defeat on their soul. Altria hold the queen close, arms locked in complete security, head drape on thumping bosom.

But the aching beat of _petrification_ in Altria's body remains, succumbing on her irrational thoughts- roaring like flames.

"Who would've weakens me so? To take her without my consent? _Mine, Gwen_ … _**She's mine**_ …." She chokes on her words, but her eyes blurred, buried in her queens pounding chest. "My daughter… She's Mine. My Mordred. My won't be… I will not let **them** take my babe from me."

"We will find her. We must." The queen consoled no one, pulling her closer, shielding her from any judging eyes. "We must, Altria… but we have to hope and be patient."

A soft pelt interrupted their solemn tears, staring at golden slits focusing on its Master. Altria blink back her rough glare, softly tilting her head as her Vladimir scrape its giant maw on her trousers, almost compelling her to move.

The lion gave a throaty purr, pulling out the door, eyes beckoning the king with its majestic swirl, until the soft glow of words etched on its fur draw the attention of the monarch, jaw in bafflement as words curled securely on the lion's hide.

" _East. Mordred. Lionas' trail. Vlad knows." -W_

* * *

A good thing about animals is that Weiss was never led astray to the wilderness with their strong paws and powerful nose. Hunch on the back of Liona's running frame, she could only giggle as the rush of leaves and branches scrapes and scatters as they caress her skin, smooth as a pillow. Mother nature loves her blood heritage to give no harm. So she sit there, calm and snogged at the firm body of the feline, listening as the wind blows and the pitter patter of paws littered the forest floor, close by at Lionas' heavy purr.

The wilderness greets her like its newborn, nestled in the den of wolves, elks and cubs and stags and tigers that accompany Lionas, silent predators running at the expense of the Queen of the Jungle, in pursuit of the assailants bearing one of their own at the vivid night, moving as one- blood and competition aside, just to bring one family back.

The wolves stooped low, hackles raise and just afoot of the terrain, sniffing the air, leading the beasts with their superior sense of smell.

The lions and lioness guard the rear, their heavy paws are not one of great trace of pouncing one's enemy, but of safety, lithe and practiced, controlled as the rumbling roar in their throats.

The stags and bears takes the middle, snorts and shuffles of heaving thumps implies the population of those who answered Lionas' roar. They are here to take back their princess.

They are to take back the cub.

She stayed there, in awe of the forest swindled with the horrors of bestiality, of fears and nightmares for hunters, forbidden as the Pendragon's greatest dominion. She was amazed, for the tales of the caverns pale in comparison to the harmony of what she is witnessing. The harmony that people lacks, but of the faunas' order- the serenity in their unity.

Mordred had been part of this. The King had made this.

Weiss gave a squeak as a great hound dives close, but the hoof beats of the King's beast made her lungs falter; the King himself is next to the raid.

Her blonde locks looks platinum from the sheen of the night, her silver armor glinting softly, embracing the brightness with sheer will to race close to her babe. Weiss is mesmerized, in awe of the mighty king. Who would've brought such tranquility within the forest of beast, but the dragon himself? She couldn't help but smile, struck by determination as the King's trusted lion, Vladimir, trout next to Lionas.

"Good boy." Weiss applauded, earning a happy roar. A hand swept her up to the high horse, between the arms of the King whom hold her in his chest. It reminds her of her mother's embrace and the resistance she creates did not stir.

It must be because she knew the King's true gender that she accepts the quick tempt of skin.

"I am in debt of you, child…" the king humbly told, placing a warm arm across her stomach. It brings the small fairy small comfort, warding the guilt coiling in her veins. She envy the princess, to be coddled by those strong arms- to be birthed to his blood.

"It must be done." she responds, sighing as she softly eased at the hard breastplate. Contemplation marred her frame before she softly spoke, giving protest to her ill fitted decision to pursue Vivian, tinge with bitterness and unsettling betrayal. "I have tried telling the knight… No one believed me…. said I am but a child…."

Those eyes focused on Weiss, filled with confidence and softness sipping down her core. "I once read from my teacher's tome; 'children are the hope of our future.', not because of what they are, but of what they can contribute. Physically, yes, you are but a frail babe, but when do age identifies level of maturity? You are not a child anymore the moment you have seen the sins of the world as I drag you away from your _father_. You have succeeded the limitations drawn by your experienced, and look where you are now, amidst the job an adult should be doing."

"I am bearing the truth, might as well do something instead of acting like nothing is wrong. Vivian's the one who's in pursuit, I only corrected her misdirection." She gently side stepped the issue, face burning in mortification as a warm feeling blooms in her thudding chest- pleased with the King's kind words. But she have to say her last words, out of concern to her companion in danger.

"Mordred is nice… I do not want her to feel the hopelessness I feared…. I don't want her to experience the same thing I did."

"She won't," the King promised. "… because she have you."

The King whistled loudly, gripping the reigns as the shadows was blinded by the meadow up close.

They exited the end of the tree lines, ascending the steep rocks of the mountain range. The beast hovers passed them, crawling their ways up the rocks with ease.

The king and little fairy drew strength from one another- seeing the moth of flames not far ahead the trail.

Meanwhile, Vivian who does not recognize her wrong, halt as the advantage of her lack of location and time shows itself. She backtrack for a moment, eyes wide as she stooped down, disbelief in her form as she gaze far behind her dust tracks.

"Holy… how did I missed them?" she murmured to herself, brushing off the twigs in her hair, sparing the cave behind her in wonder. Come to think of it, when did she start running _inside_ a cave?

' _No matter.'_

Few lamps of torches were slowly coming her way. With her mage sight, she spies the rough cloak of those she pursued in one of the horses, trotting close to the road she is above. They are in a hurry, with rogue men of thirteen cautiously wandering inside the canopy of steep slopes and spiky rocks.

Even though the reason she surpass a thoroughbred horses' speed is beyond her comprehension, Vivian grin in glee- doubling as she felt the restriction of Merlin's magic has nulled, rubbing her hands as she dunk down her position.

With a thought in mind, she slides down the steep curve of rock, digging her nails to the soft grass there. Then, she _pulls_ with her magic _._

" _Alright mongrels, time to bring you back to Camelot~."_ She cackled, looping the ground to trot back to the Kingdom, unnoticed by the novice lads oblivious to the illusion of nature.

* * *

Waking up in an unfamiliar place has ultimately pushed her nightmare in an unsettling speed. Flailing he limbs only to realize she can't, Mordred's muffled cry was the first indication of her health, sacked in unforgiving jutes and hanging from it, sinfully draping her as she pummeled and roughly sways to a hard and moving surface on her confinement.

"What is this?! Where am I!?" she tried to shout but it escape her lips as a whine, as bound as her feet and hands with sully cloth that speaks years of neglect. She grew frantic, labor breath just inch away from screaming her windpipe when a painful force leaves her grunting- the air escaping her lungs.

A foot dives through her shoulder, repeating just as hard that brought tears to her eyes.

"Shut yah mouth, lassy. 'Ere n't here fo games, y'knaw." A bard voice grunted, striking a quick slap on the sack tied on his equine's hide. When he's satisfied with her whimpers, the failed brood chuckles darkly as he stares ahead of the difficult road up the mountain east of Camelot, step as steel if the horse aren't trained for the rough route.

The castle beneath brightens, as hundreds of fire wasps ascends and spreads throughout the kingdom, their shouts and yells muted by the distance.

"You do good kid, ain't seen some l'ke yah for years on these f'ckin job." He then congratulated his shadow, following his horse with the stupidest grin on his face. The boy's curly hair was matted and wet from exertion, but his deep blue eyes shines through the night, proud and grimly satisfied with the result. Three claw marks went at the side of his face, parallel to his symbol of a box after box connected by mere vine, cursed upon any Druid's bastard that has escaped the death penalty. His cloak laid across his own horse, his impressive chest bare to the world.

"Takes desperation to pull succession, sir." The Druid laughs, patting his chest mockingly. "At the very least, I ain't hoping to give up easily when the bounties ten- fold of a scumbag's riches."

"I barely 'ought you'll be swift, yah kid. How yah di' th't by the way? Th's babe w'rth than many lives, surely the King's no' that lax."

"They're not, I assure you. But the Wizard's not there and their home's as good as none to infiltrate when magic's involve."

"The Emrys' nah' there, yah say?"

"Aye, the barrier's ruse was foiled. Some elders has spoken to the King, many was refused to accept to Ward the plane."

".. And who brings to pay this lassy?"

The druid smiled wickedly. "The Witch offers. None can refute her glory, you know."

"… So the Dark Witch, aye… Tell me, what some 'lassy be doin' for the witch, boy?"

"More like what she'll do to the kid, I presume. But who we are to judge? We get the bounty, we get the money. And then, we can go wherever we wanted, away from this place."

"The King would not stop, kid. Just so you know, this gamble, it is one-time regret, yah hear? Hath no fury, hath no mercy when the baby gal's involved. There's no justice for us. I'm a father, kid. His Majesty will have our heads."

"That's the reason of running away. And fast."

" **Not fast enough.** "

They stopped and gawked. The horses neighed in distress, as hundreds of predator eyes glimmered on the night. In the center is a lone horse, maneuvered by a holy person.

Behind them a loud footsteps emerged. They haven't turn back to regard the snickering woman, too pinned by the King's murderous sneer.

The babe on the sack chose that time to cry harder as the moon hides in the dark clouds above.

The thieves did not see the passing of the celestial body, as the savage animals bared their fangs.

And the worst of all?

The King is the first one who catch them and frail them to snarling maws.

* * *

When Mordred felt familiar warmth of a palm cradling her cheek, she forgets the pain on her shoulder and the bite of ropes on her wrist to claim assurance upon the embrace. She forgets the smelly sack, the awful weight of seclusion and the fear of being away from home.

None of that matter, as the moon shines its dazzling light upon her father, cradling her like a princess she is, green eyes full of swirling emotions and unflappable joy.

Mordred tenderly response with a fond grin, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

" _Dada~._ " She whimpered and let the tears fall.

The King buried his face on her hair, inhaling her scent, gripping her tighter all the more.

"I am here, my heart. You're safe. _"_ Altria drew back and gave Mordred a sweet trembling _grin._

Mordred can't help but laugh at her father's silliness.

"Dada, you're ugly! Stop that!"

Meanwhile, Weiss kicks Vivian's down- ridden form.

"Bad. Bad witch. Very bad." Weiss chanted, huffing as Vivian rolled her eyes, flicking Weiss' nose.

"Oh please, I know I save the day. Praise me more~ Praise me~."

"Idiot," Weiss pouted, scowling at her mother's love interest. "You point the wrong direction, how does that makes you the hero?"

"Eh, it just means whoever follows my guide without thinking is stupid."

"Says the woman who gives the wrong guide. What does that make you?"

"Ouch."

Days passed as if the tormenting memories of the night vanished in a blink of an eye. It would be a lie to say the guards were not punished, nor were they doubled or the Queen had not stuck like a paste to her child. More so when Mordred told her about her dream that day, of the golden eyed woman who takes Guinevere's face and the 'Witch' her captor was talking.

It would also be a total lie to say Altria didn't smell the upcoming turmoil and had learn the hard way how Mordred can be captured without her knowing.

However, Mordred's resolve have increase the unease tenfold, when she enter her father's study recovered from injury, with the most determined face of all.

"Father, I want to be strong. _Train me to be your knight._ "

Her bitter experience will not pull her down. Instead, she'll rise in the ashes.

* * *

 **Author's Note: As you all notice, I was absent for more than a year and didn't published any stories I have ever since. That's not because I got lazy, or I have the common writer's block you all be talking about.**

 **No.**

 **Some f- ing senile took my laptop, thought it funny to format it without my consent, and that fucker deleted 25 waiting to post chapters for FGO Extra, 8 long chapters for DORAC, and 5 scripts for Tossing Stones. The flow for the Grand Order Extra is dead, DORAC- unplotted, Tossing stone didn't even breathe!**

 **I am** _ **Mad.**_

 **I have not even look at my laptop ever since. I lost my urge to type it again, because those determined all night typing and making it into something decent was FUCKING deleted for FUN.**

 **GONE. WITH. THE. WIND.**

 **So you all don't mind me if I ignore you for so long, because I am still pissed off. I'm posting right now because I owe you an apology for the abrupt absence. This might take a while and I might not have the same vigor and long ass chapter like before. Because fucking shit it hurts to remember all your efforts be wasted by someone who fucking doesn't know what love for writing is.**

 **Congratulations if you ever see this asshole, this is dedicated to you. My MIDDLE finger salutes you.**


	15. New World: Message Underneath

" _I DON'T GET IT~!" Mordred wailed, attracting the attention of the dining hall, intrigued at the commotion in a table reserved for the royal holiness, wailing princess, the elven child, the Ward and Knight Dinadan._

 _Altria paid no mind to it, as she calmly sipped her red wine, in comfort that her babe's safety within the elve's company and trustful servant._

" _Why don't I have it!?" again, the babe wailed, earning a silent chuckle to the king and queen, quietly finishing their hearty meal, while half- heartedly listening to the commotion, unbridled with the ignored notion of the castle staffs' growing horror._

" _Now, now. Relax, my lady. It is a conversation that needs a proper teacher and unfortunately, I am not in a position to do so." Sir Dinadan's voice trembled slightly as if trying to escape the growing smirk at the elven's faces- one quite mischievous and the other, an absolute sinister._

 _But the babe will have none of it, she whined, palming the table in front of her, shaking her head. "I just want to know what kind of art is that!? I remember Emrys saying woman adore it a lot so they can't stop eating it and their tummy will bloat because it's so delicious!"_

 _The King and queen freeze, mouth agape and their spoon and fork half an inch close to their lips._

" _I want it! I want it! I want it!"_

" _Now, now. My lady, we cannot have that." Vivian giggled, eyes twinkling in mischief. "But if you really like to eat such delicacy, I believe Sir Dinadan is hiding it below the table for Weiss to consume."_

 _Weiss gave her a stink eye, returning to her plate after she slightly kicked the other woman's legs, clearly displeased._

" _I do not!" Sir Dinadan's high pitched voice cracked, bordering panic as the little heiress jumped at her chair, steady and determinedly strolling across his position._

" _Sir Dinadan, I told you I always get what I want! I'm a Pendragon, I eat all stuff!" the babe yelled, running straight to the knight._

" _Please, princess! It is not for you to eat!"_

" _I just want a tinsy, tiny bite!"_

" _It is forbidden for children!"_

" _It's not!"_

" _It is!"_

" _I want your_ _ **eggplant and eggballs!**_ _"_

" _NO, princess!"_

" _It's not-!"_

" _ **Mordred.**_ _" With a swift movement, the king and queen latched their arm downward, perfectly securing the dashing princess as they step away to the quivering knight holding something on his lap._

 _The royalties looks at Knight Dinadan, and the knight whimpered inside his head, getting paler and paler by the second as the piercing eyes of the parents consume his fears judging his worth._

" _Dada!" Mordred whined, clutching her father's coat, successfully averting those eyes into her brimming green, pleading with its adorable shine. "Dada Dada! Dinadan didn't want me to eat his eggplant and eggballs!"_

" _What kind of delicacy are you muttering about, my love?" Guinevere comforted, placing a delicate hand on her child's cheek. "What kind of eggplant and eggballs you are talking?"_

" _That!" Mordred pointed, at Dinadan's lap._

 _The King grew taut. Déjà vu is it called, race down in her spine. As if she remembers a moment similar to these._

" _Because it's still raw! Raw poultry are not good for you! The sous chef said so!" Dinadan defended, pulling out the plate out in front of him under the table, consisting of a fried eggplant, and still shelled eggs with a golden color in its surface._

" _I have thought you are talking of different delicacy…" Altria murmured, and Mordred blinks at her father._

" _Uwa~! There's a different one!? Dada, can I have it!? 'Cause Dinadan said his food is not good for me!"_

" _ **No.**_ _"_ _Guinevere growled, snatching Mordred away from Altria, after she pinched the King with all her might on her side_

 _She's hoping it would leave a bruise for many days._

" _AUuuuuuuu~!" Mordred cried, burying her face at her mother's neck._

"Sweet memories I yearned…" Mordred sniffles, brushing her eyes for any residual tears. "But I must endure. I can do this. _Watch me Dada, I will make you proud._ "

 **CHAPTER XV: NEW WORLD: MESSAGE UNDERNEATH**

"Mordred…" a warm hand pats her, firm touched grounding her quivering shoulder. She looks at her father's immaculate face, hood clouding him like a shadow but his green eyes speaks of confidence directed to her. "… for the last time I would inquire. Remember I will not judge you if you retract your words and return home with me but I need to be certain. Are you sure of your decision? Are you sure you want to be a squire?"

"I am." She quickly responds, chin rising up to meet her father's amused gaze. "I decided long before you agreed. Whatever it takes I will be a squire so I could be knighted. Common squires started at their fifth winters while I will start at ninth. I think it was long overdue, Dada."

"Overdue it was. However, need I remind your objectives are not the common practices that a squire would do?"

"No, Dada. You led me here as a challenge," Mordred sighed, clicking her tongue in annoyance, bitter sarcasm told. ",challenge if I'm fit to rule…"

"You are my heiress, Mordred. I will not lead you here expecting you to be harmed." Altria consoled, appeasing Mordred's bipolar reaction. "But know this…" Mordred straighten up, alerted. "My circumstances of knighthood may be differ, but enjoy the journey you will take daughter. Learn to the things you see. Accept their different beliefs. Being a squire doesn't mean to only to make you honorable, loyal, fearful of Mighty God. There are many knights who failed in those regards. You have to learn as you follow, be wise and true to yourself- because there is no perfect knight than those with a heart to achieve the impossible. A heart where kindness beats arrogance, humility defeats pride and love destroys hate. And when you have something to protect, that would be your greatest strength. Remember what you came for, and do not regret every choice you take."

"I will not. I will not, Dada." Mordred promised, moist lining up her eyes. It that instance did it slammed in her consciousness. She is weeks away from Camelot, with Weiss and Dinadan as her only companion to the foreign land she's in. There's no mother who would comfort, no father who would advise to her doings and two friends to lean. It would take years without them and years still were she needs their tutelage.

But as her father says; No regrets.

She took it to be strong, to be powerful so she would not be a weakling little girl again.

However, her bravado is farce and Altria saw it and slides down her own horse. She held her arms open and the child leaps out her ride, holding Mordred fiercely as the babe chokes.

"I'm scared…" she whispered, truly afraid. The king smoothed her tangled hair, pushing the hood away.

"It's alright to be scared," Altria hushed, drying her wet trail of tears. ", it what makes you all the more brave daughter. To admit your weakness only to face your fears head on and never backing on your word, I'm proud of you. No man would call you coward my love, this I vow."

"I would miss you and Mama~," this is all the King could understand on her babe's drawl. Those arms wrapped around the babe tighten, touched by the words. She pat the princess' plain white short and customary brown trousers.

"Send word with dove, not any other bird. Every night, your mother would be delighted. _I love you, my cub._ Your mother would dearly miss you as well, if not more. I will see to it we visit you, make those time we had comfort for you." The King proposed, kissing her baby one last time before putting Mordred back to her ride and lift up on her own. She turns her horse into a different direction, seeing an army of hundred silver soldiers in hiding, the most skilled and magically involved of all. Altria nodded to them at the distance. She had put a mule in the Lord's haven and assassins across the town. She have given complete details to her dear childhood friend Lady Maureen- Lord Ohbert's wife, the roof where Mordred would take the sacrilege of knighthood- and the King knows she would keep her babe safe. What father would give no protection to his only kin?

Fools would, but Altria is no fool.

Altria trot for a short distance, and stop at Weiss' horse and Dinadan. The king regards the girl. "Forgive me for bringing you here, the only capable I trusted with my babe." Those eyes shift to Dinadan for a short moment, one in split warning, "And you as well."

Weiss smiled slightly. "All is in the past, Your Highness. And I'll come to Tartarus if she lead me there, I'm bound to her as she is bound to me. If the pressure comes then I realize a few years that I can release it in my mischief. And that me likes to cut _eggplants_ Your Majesty, so all is well."

"Make sure to give all your best then." Altria smirked, confident to Weiss' abilities. While Vivian is busy with Camelot, resident wizard and decoy- Weiss is a powerhouse devil in quiet, displease her and you're round for a fitful despair. Altria learned it the hard way.

"Mother would be sorely missed. Vivian too." Weiss whispers and Altria listened well.

"I will see to it your message received by your loved ones. I will keep them safe in your honor, Miss Weiss." With that and a longing look to Mordred's back she fled, to return to her kingdom in secret.

Altria prayed for Mordred's safety, and hope Morgana haven't heard of her absence to Camelot. This proposition is a double edge sword. For one her babe may not be recognizable in this land but it would be easier to kidnap her if her witch sister heard of the news. However, if she cocooned Mordred in her Kingdom, she would be the biggest target of all as there's a huge unrest Vivian had seen without the perverse wizard's absence.

With that worry weighting her heart, she blends into the canopy of shadows, away from her babe.

Mordred then takes the leave as a time to look straight ahead and push her fears at the back of her mind. She observed the small land of green fields and peaceful road. The surrounding wall of the land her father brought her in; the same land he conquered years ago, a bedtime story she adored. She cannot believe it was ruled by a mean king few years ago, they said the circumstances of the people are worse than that of the sewers. She found it hard to believe that. It had some marvelous structure of graphite and red bricks, but not as beautiful as Camelot's marble white. It is small, taking the banners of a weird looking lion with a beak- a griffin?- but is managed by the noble folks of the lands, no King to rule, just a Lord and Barons loyal to Pendragon. Father had built it new, he said but it is up to her to see if they are to the standards of their Kingdom.

"Learn things in the eyes of a servant, common folk, and squire." Mordred recited Guinevere's lessons. "I am to hide my title, but tell I'm pledge to House Pendragon, given as a squire for the Lady of the land. This is not a fairytale. Sought what your mind hated to see."

"You're in for a difficult change," Weiss quipped catching up with Dinadan, crunching her nose remembering a foul thing. ", it's not Camelot, everyone's watching their back or they would be eaten with snakes. It's also foul. I can still recall the smell of dung and piss at everywhere you walk and anything you put on your mouth."

Mordred was horrified. "Snakes!? Dung?! Everywhere!? Don't they have plumbing and sewers!?"

Weiss deadpanned. "Snakes are a figure of speech."

Dinadan laughed, scratching his nose as the girls conversed. "Why, it's been years since Weiss came here so I presume her information is limited. They have made used of our knowledge, believe me when I said so. It takes a year of construction before His Majesty gave their independence. His Majesty named it Mourdruide in honor of you, have you known?"

"Really, why would Dada? I didn't do anything?" confused the girl asked, but the knight flinched at the reminder, nervously darting his eyes anywhere but the princess of the realm.

"Now now, let's stop this at once and off into Mourdruide. The skies at mercy, it would rain soon."

"And why are you wearing a commoners clothing?"

"Why, you haven't heard? I will be working in the Lady Maureen's chamber as well!"

"Why aren't we in a Lady's keep when I am expected to be a knight? Shouldn't I be with the Lord?" the princess rambled. Her inquiry was met with tense scoff and hidden meaning.

"There's a reason for that," Dinadan didn't elaborate, voice lace with unending seriousness. "You will see what's it like outside Camelot princess, not all is knights and flowers."

Mordred hmmed, sparing the topic some thought.

"And please don't react badly when they called you 'boy'."

"Why would they call me that?"

"Because you look like a boy?"

"… I am very offended."

* * *

"We come in peace, My Lord. We are from Camelot, send by His Majesty to receive your hospitality as your servants and sacrilege of knighthood by Lady Maureen."

When they step afoot in the Lord Ohbert's claimed castle Mordred knew it will not end well.

The jeers started from the nobles at that court followed by the three scrawny boys next to them, portraying the same white shirt and brown trousers like Mordred. She furrowed, annoyed by their disrespect, but maintains her kneeling position. Though she must prefer to stand if ever what smelly particles are next to her knee is a dung of some animal.

She sniffed silently and almost gagged. A quiet giggle made her glare at her left side, where an invisible Weiss resided having no reason to be caught by the people of Mourdruide.

"So the Usurper has send us another thing to thank him for," the Lord cheerfully spits down, sarcasm bitterly pronounced. "Why, how generous of him! A little lad wet behind the ears and a beautiful man who's better than most women! Tell me boy, aren't you on for a brothel?" the latter was for Dinadan, and the knight merely smiled as the court laughed with the Lord.

Mordred fisted her trousers, slightly craning her head to glare at the seated Lord. It's one to be sarcastic to a place she called home, but to disregard her father's kindness and ridicule one of her important people is utterly belittling.

She is ready to defend their honor, when the Lady seated met her gaze. Blue orbs calmly criticize her anger and what comes next shocked the babe. Lady Maureen smiles and the princess in disguise is taken aback.

"I ought to welcome you dear," the Lady spoke, the first time since Mordred set afoot into the castle, addressing them all but those orbs remain on her and Mordred don't know what's the sudden interest. "And I humbly accept those lads in my wing, let it be known that I teach with wit and ploys. Are you up to start your days as my squire?"

The other boys seemed like they are confused as much as Mordred but they didn't protest.

"Dearest, you can't be serious!" the Lord Ohbert laughs, pointing at them- the emissaries of Camelot. "The young lads at twelve winters I accept, but this kid?" now the grizzly man's now addressing Mordred. "We rather send him into the stables!"

Mordred bristled, and no amount of nudge from Dinadan and Weiss would keep the sudden onslaught of words from coming out of her mouth. Lady Maureen merely lifts her eyebrows.

"I wonder how a fat man like you could run this land with your head up your arse!"

Nobody moved for a minute, and her companions gave an internal wail of despair. The nobles look scandalized and the Lady seated have her eyebrows almost hiding in her hairline. But Mordred is not concern. If this Lord cannot keep them then Mordred will find another way to become a knight. It is tradition, yes, yet she knew incredible people who were knighted by their strength and adventures!

Ohbert glared at her menacingly, standing at his chair. "Did you just talk to me lad?" he snarled and Mordred stands at her kneeling position, crossed arms. Gawain's scowl is uglier than Ohbert's!

"You need to clean your ears once and a while if you have a terrible hearing." Lady Maureen's eyes glint into something Mordred couldn't figure out, but she have a matter to attend to. Mordred hid her smirk.

"Know your manners! Respect me as I deserve! I could have thrown you in our dungeons!" Ohbert yelled, angered.

"My Lord we-!" Dinadan intervened until Mordred outsmarted him.

"Respect is earned, not given! And if you wanted to, go ahead! I'm not scared…." Mordred taunted, remembering her mother's whispered logic.

" _ **Princess, what are you doing?**_ _"_ Dinadan hissed lowly, hands clamping her shoulder which she shrug away.

" _Mama, why you like patics?"_

" _Politics, my little one?"_

" _Yeah, tha'!"_

" _Because that's the only way I can help your father fight with his council. Why the sudden interest?"_

" _You like it, no~?"_

" _I do not dislike it, little one but it is a necessity for someone like us. Do not let them know what you desired or they would try harder all the more to take it away. If I can't beat them physically, I use my wit and tongue to oppress the giant to the side. Give them an opening my love, where in the shadow of that entrance, a knife was awaiting their thrust." Guinevere hushed on her temple, playing with her hair._

"However!" she shouted before Ohbert could spit orders to the stunned soldiers. "… if the King of Camelot heard of us thrown in the dungeons… what do you think would happen, _My Lord?_ "

"Foolish boy! Do you think the Usurper would pay attention to a slave like you!?" the Lord countered, much to the displeasure of Dinadan.

" _Mama, mama!"_

" _Yes, my love?"_

" _How can I win an argument without saying anything?"_

" _Look at their eyes, my love. Do not let them get the best of you. Look at their eyes and do not give them the satisfaction of reading you."_

Mordred grits her teeth again, possibly annoyed twofold but hides it well, portraying a blank mask of indifference staring straight ahead.

" _They would look at you and they will say 'Ah, a lamb. A kid! She won't know well, she would be easy to handle!' and then will belittled you. They would lower their guard and will listen to you spout nonsense, until the sheep shred its wool, and the wolf comes out. The wolf would pounce with the truth, and they would be_ _ **terrified.**_ _"_

"I didn't even know what's usurper is but it looks bad!" Weiss's palm meets her forehead. "And I'm not a slave, I'm a squire to be!" Dinadan's palm met the same fate. _Too late for that_ , is his kind of expression. "But I know my fa- **King** is righteous! Camelot has been sustaining you with food, tools and men to help Mourdruide! Do you think harming one of his people would mean nothing?"

" _They would be cornered. There would be a dispute. But know this, my little Mordred, you need not to escape as they would turn to each other, blame one another. You will leave unscathed."_

The nobles are stunned silence, sensing the fact behind the little kid's reasoning. They were deeply depended to Camelot, and to retrieve that alliance just because Lord Ohbert thought it would mean nothing to harm a child send by the said King is like a man standing with one of his feet stuck in the mud. They knew not of the consequences and the Lord seems to get it as well. They yelled at Ohbert, console the fuming man, until the Lord screams at them to not make him retract his decision and the court have ignored the child.

Mordred harrumphs in triumph, oblivious to the amused eyes of the Lady.

" _When did you get so smart?_ " Weiss whispered, a little in awe.

Mordred grin to the open air, answering in echo.

"You know I'm a Pendragon, but you forgotten I'm my mother's daughter too."

" _Come now Mordred," Guinevere giggled, "We're lions and dragons. We are meant to rule."_

So let it be known, Mordred have won the attention of the Lady and rise in the ire of the Lord and squires to be that day.

* * *

After the imminent exchanged, Mordred and the other boys are escorted to the dining hall to prepare their last supper as a common folk, canishing their title and telling them of their roles from now on. They are to eat before the Lords and Ladies, the hands of their warden. Then, with the moon peeking the squires are led in small hallways lighted with torches, following the Lady Maureen as she ascends the stairs.

"Say, have you wondered why are we in tutelage of a lady?" the teen, Bran asked haughtily, dragging his large luggage as he address the boy to his close right, Albertus. Mordred was snorting, attention drawn to the dirt she skips about. She heard a chuckle and the Lady see her dilemma. She colored, thinking why her warden looks so graceful and poise and she didn't even look in front of her and she's avoiding the dung like a professional dancer!

' _Must be her dress. Mama's good with it too._ ' Mordred thought, continuing her skipping.

"Yes, I'm surprised. I thought we were to serve the Lord? Do you think because the Lord has no time for us?"

"Bet we aren't that important!" Guildene huffed, scowling at the woman in front. "Woman's just that! Woman! They're not important as we are!"

' _Tell that to Mama and she'll spank your arse.'_ Mordred scowled, but it came as a pout.

Lady Maureen barely spared them a glance, before she tells a tale earning the princess' attention.

"Some says men had change the world by their hands, as is God created His people He called Man. However correct is the bible that men first descends upon the breath of the Father, it's the women who act and plays the key to destiny and change. Men are said to be loyal to his Father and blamed women of their banishment. Such crass of loyalty isn't it? The knowledge we have now is a women's doing. Think of Adam as a babe naïve to the dangers of the world, while Eva threads her path and eat the forbidden fruit. Women birthed men, cooked for the family, cared for you when you were young. Now tell me boys, are women truly that lower than men when it is women who gave our mind choices and see the world for what it's like?"

"I see a sinner." Guildene responds while the others nodded.

"And you, little one?" Lady Maureen looks down at Mordred, and the princess blinked back.

"I think men are slaves of women!" she reasoned and the boys blanched.

"Oh?"

"Uhn! If Mama says no, Dada couldn't do anything! Sometimes I heard the nannies speaking when Dada is doing nasty with Mama, Mama would be on top and Dada is always bottom! So women are the top, Dada can't resist Mama!"

"Does she now?" Lady Maureen smirked, holding one hand to cover her mouth.

"Un! Dada hides from Mama when she's really angry! And Dada always gives Mama what she wants!"

"Utter nonsense! Your Dada's weak!" Albertus snapped back, stomping his foot. Mordred gave him the stink eye.

"My Dada is the best in the world, Mama says so. Mama's a lion and Dada is the only one who can mount a lion!"

The three boys deadpanned, expecting Mordred to take it back but was unfortunate. Mordred doesn't know the value of her response.

"Alright, now we are here." The Lady announced, stopping at a hallway, cleaner than the once they taken to cross. The floors have become smooth bricks and red wood doors taller than the expected height. They too stopped, curious of what would happen next.

"The night is young, I want you to acquaint yourself with your surroundings and pick a chamber fitting those of your position. Tomorrow before sunrise we would start your training and I expect _you_ to act like what you _want to be._ Wisely used your time. Do anyone have their possessions?"

The boys raise their full hands.

"I have no possessions with me but these clothes." Mordred said, raising her arms and twirling for the Lady to see. The boys mock her, pulling their satchels and treasure boxes. Lady Maureen smiled, understanding before they turned into steel, looking at the suddenly scared boys.

"Good, because I will provide your necessities and there's no reason for you to bring meaningless things. Boys, dropped your things out the window."

"No! These things are important to me!" Albertus yelled, shaking his head. Bran furrowed but the first one to throw his satchel at the open window, hearing the crash below as the people yelled in alarm.

"Bran had followed my instruction, what of you two? I could still send you away as a failure to your houses if I mind to."

"What!? No!" the remaining boys wanted to say, but the eyes haunted them and they obliged albeit hesitantly and with a heavy heart.

Mordred tilts her head to the side, as if she solved a certain puzzle.

"Good. Now move along." Lady Maureen ordered and the boys fled.

They scattered at the hallway, pushing one another to find the perfect bedchamber for them. They are wild and loud, moving this and that until the rooms are all occupied and silence reign. It takes exactly three minutes. All that was left is Mordred who is quite baffled by their actions and the Lady who has a quirk on her lips.

She regards the princess with an eyebrow raised. "I see you don't have the same enthusiasm as them to leave me, darling."

Mordred pouted, embarrassed as she brush the floor with one foot. "You said to find a chamber suitable of our position…" she explained. The Lady of the House nodded, urging her to continue. "… I'm a squire now and the rooms look like guest rooms. I'm not a guest though, I'm here to serve. I'm not fit for the rooms."

"And what room is fit for you then?" the Lady tested, pleased someone saw through her words.

Mordred pursed her mouth and scratch her chin, thoughtful. "My Dada said squires are like handmaidens but unlike handmaidens we will learn politics, follow our ward and train as a soldier and have time for God. That's the explanation for the possessions too. Squires are like those who wanted the sacrilege of priesthood, without possessions to define them of their greed and for us to be baptized as a true knight. So, squires are like servants but should be closer to our ward… so that means I have to be at your chambers, I guess? But it's your room though so we can't share it because Mama said there's a personal space for everyone. Aren't there any small rooms next to yours?"

Mordred was startled when the Lady suddenly laughed, doubled over in her hysterics.

" _Did I say something wrong?_ "Mordred whispers to the invisible friend close.

" _You spoke too many, she's impressed."_ Weiss told her.

"Oh, heavens. You are a good child. I expect the best from you." With that the Lady ushered a very flustered Mordred, towards another set of stairs.

"Come, I have a small chamber at the back of my fireplace. Since it was only you who passed my test, then you would be occupying the space for four cozier than it could be since you are the only one I would teach."

"Eh? What about the others?" Mordred gasped, staring at hardened blue eyes.

"They failed me from the start. They disrespect me, have no decency to think and are with whispers at my back. They would wake up closer to their home, shameful."

"But… Bran?"

"Bran should passed, if only he have bigger heart and concern to his ward, something a squire in him lacks. However, what they forget is that of what I spoke about being accepted in my wing. Do you, little one?"

Mordred crunch up her face. "You teach with wits and…. Ploys?"

"Then I picked the perfect squire."

Mordred looks up at the Lady, with more questions to her mind. But her mind's tired, and the long journey towards Mourdruide took its toll in her small body. She must sleep to regained energy tomorrow. But first…

"May I have a quill, ink and paper before I go into my room, My Lady?"

"Are you going to send a message to your queen mother?"

"Yes… wha- how!?" Mordred jumped three feet, backing away at the mischievous Lady giggling at her reaction.

"You look exactly like Arthur darling and I know Guinevere would be so worried about her little sweetling daughter."

"If you know me then why are the others…"

"They are idiots, darling. Don't mind them."

"Oh. But I really like if I'm called a girl though, my Lady."

"Noted, darling."

* * *

 _Dearest Mama,_

 _I have made it! I'm a squire! I am so scared when I entered the castle, but the Lady says she's your childhood friend so I trust her easily. She's like you Mama! She said her favorite teaching skills is wit and ploy just like you! I wish you're here Mama so I can tell you in detail what happened here!_

 _I met the Lord Mama, he's really fat and I used what you told me before to fight him Mama! He called Dinadan many things and Dada usurper or something, but I win! I win Mama! It's the best win ever! And did you know, Dada named the land Mor-druid just like mine but different it was the besy gift ever if the Lords and the other boys didn't make it sounds so bad. Oh, there's four of us Mama but I'm the only one the Lady accepted because I'm good!_

 _Weiss is with me and Dinadan serves the fat Lord. I don't know what will happen tomorrow but I will right to you every day just like I promise Dada! I love you Mama, don't miss me too much. Before you know it I'm a knight and I will be strong and I can protect you now! I love you Mama and I wished I could return with you every day! I will sleep now and remember your lullabies to me. I love you Mama!_

 _I'll write soon._

 _Your little knight,_

 _Mordred Pendragon_


	16. New World: Words Fulfilled

**OSIRIS VALENSKY:** Heyo! It's alright, I hope your sickness went away. Thank you for being my reader since from the start and I do remember you by the way. That's exactly why I put the letter in there ya know, good job! *thumbs up!*

 **Stratos268:** More like a new adventure XD pokemon much hahaha. But in the question of how they kidnapped her, it was said as such Merlin is absent. Even though Camelot had the pride of their knights of a round table it doesn't mean Camelot isn't vulnerable when Merlin is not around to inform them of the shifts he felt in his magic. And since Vivian can't control his magic then no one could have alert them that there's been a breach. The guards are foot soldiers not knights so they have no fight against a druid who can deceive a human brain. Ah, the power of magic. Well done pointing that.

 **Amerdism(13 & 15): (13)** Yes, Guinevere's memory has been except Mordred because Merlin has to erased everything that resembles Altria's birthday on everyone's mind. Mordred's predicament is no brainer, she's with Altria- the sole reason of the hunt and thus, Merlin do not want to be near the babe when Altria's literally near so he can't cast any spells that will set off the alter. **(15)** And thankfully you realize my writing pattern differs from last year because of, one: it's been so long, two: I didn't dig deeper and write their mindsets or internal debate to their surroundings, I only written what they do at that very spot and three; I'm in so dip shit on my vocabulary- must be because of my hibernation. About the Mama thing instead of mother thing, well; let's put it this way; one, it is Guinevere's POV with a little bit of Mordred's in there, two: it is a way to say Mordred change in the eyes of her mother because three: she is hiding something and name changing is just one way to know she's in deep thoughts, angry, secretive or polite. You'll do the exact same way too if you don't want someone digging into your concern. Four: look at Mordred's interaction with her father in the same chapter, she didn't say 'father', she said 'Dada' and five: she is a child, she doesn't know her transition to Mama and mother can affect said person because to her. Mama is Guinevere; mother is what Guinevere is to her so it's just the same even if she aged. Well done, mate I love you ( _not that way_ ) for seeing that.

 **UnkownSoul:** Hmm, maybe because it's baby Mordred and baby's just blurt things out they want to say.

 **DLFangrill:** Making a name is simple, sword skill's ehhhhh…. You'll know soon.

 **ZenoZen:** Hey Zeno, sorry it's been a while. I didn't forget about you, you know. You're one of the reasons why I continue this story so here's one for you.

 **Johnstonrichard3:** They wouldn't dare now.

 **Dragon Man 180:** Ooh, that's a tricky statement there. I know just about a right person to get revenge other than Mordred and _for_ Mordred but you know what, how about a twist?

 **Guys a little help, what do you think is the best way to win a siege in the medieval times? I searched for it but it's just been a bunch of tactics on 'how' to siege which is helpful but a little less dramatic on the perspective.**

 **WARNING: TRIGGER AT WEISS PERSPECTIVE SO ERR, BE CAREFUL.**

* * *

"What do your mind conjure when I said 'power', little one?" the Lady asked her, anticipating her answer. They are in a garden of lavender, basked in the sun in a bench far from the castle. They have their basket of food, a horse and satchel; filled with buttons, clothes, needles and threads. She is to accompany wherever her Lady goes, when she proved too progressive for the teachers at the castle.

She can write, read, do mathematics and train in a noble etiquette. They were dazed, and the babe alleged it humorous they presume her to be an inane boorish. She's a princess after all before she can be a knight.

The princess considered her answer, picking threads and needles and organizing where is which.

Power. It's something that protect. It is something a person has with an aim to acquire.

Mordred knew of power, knew of the things it can do or all the things it can destroy.

Power is destructive, as well as it is the driving force of Life. Power is her father, who reigned with passion to his people. A power to ease her unsteady heart, with an embrace of a possessive dragon to its fledgling. Power is father, for he would find her anywhere, no matter where she goes. He is the pinnacle of her dream, to step beside her father, to be blinded by his Kingdom's prosperity.

Power is her mother, who hold father with love and council. A power who did not led astray. A power to humiliate men with her words, a woman of her title imposing as her name. Power is mother's kisses, it keeps her warm at cold winters and her hugs a pillow to the dreams of her mind.

Power is Weiss, who raised her hand in the sky which beckoned a storm and smashed a four decade barrier of the known most powerful wizard in boredom, cleaved by a small hand. Without boasting her achievement, merely to prove her worth. Power is her dominion, of hustles and hellions to spook unwanted people of her own choice.

Power is friendship. Of those people who gives happiness and accepts her for what she is, who supported her thoughts, who gives advices to her wrongdoing. It is companionship, the power to connect to others with her heart, to trust them with her secrets, to give them chance for a second time.

The knights have powers. The people. The enemies. The creatures behind nature. They might have a different race but they are still a person with will, conscience and heart. They're the same as human, or better yet, superior than man. Everything has power. There's no such thing as powerless, for one can attempt a decision from their heart. Where determination they willingly give, comes the power to gain the unachievable of their lives.

So she gave an answer, vague at best. "A person."

Maureen glanced at her long, as if digging through her soul the answer to her simple question, skimming into her honesty. Mordred meet her eyes head on, open and true, for she hold no secret of her love to her precious people.

The Lady smiled at her sheer fire, her eyes smothered with courage, filled with so much adoration.

"You know, when I voiced such word, I am prepared to listen a tirade from a mind so young. Yet here you are, were I am impressed beyond my expectations. A single word, but you have answered it like you meant the very word. Why is that?"

Mordred tilts her head up, crunching her noise with a little bit of mischief, exceeding those walls of innocence they thought she had. "Power is…. Ya know, to me power is something you wield effectively. Everyone has it, they could in all extent use it differently that would benefit them. Magic is power, yes, but how could magic materialize without a person to wield it? Sentient beings, mythical creatures, even God- they are their own person, they shared it, gave others their gift and they were worshipped or feared. So power is a person."

The Lady applauded, stricken by the child's resilient words. She heard many human so passionate of their beliefs, even children who dreamed to be powerful and knighted, or a fairytale and adventure they seek. Yet here is her squire, a child- an innocent child. So full of trust, so full of love. She remembered the young Altria back when they were saplings, so full of cheer and goal. She hoped it would last."

 **CHAPTER XVI: NEW WORLD; WORDS FULFILLED**

For five days in a row, she can't sleep in the dead of the night. Mordred has adapted quite well, waking up before the sun rises and dipping into the cold morning lake with her in tow with no apparent realization of her dilemma.

Who could if she doesn't even for a moment dropped her guise of invisibility? Afraid to be seen. Afraid to be held by filthy hands of the people who dirtied her childhood memories.

She grew wary, too mute to even be noticed by the princess- but Mordred is here, her presence is like a sun, calming and soothing, so Weiss stick close to the little squire and helped if needed.

She didn't know what compelled her to seek the blonde, to accept the agreement with the King or to accompany her to this beastly place. Maybe Weiss wants to repay her debt to the royalty? Or she truly wants to see if the King is true to his word, that this place has been redeemed, has been cleanse by the evil spawn of deeds of men.

But she disagree, nothing change.

True, Weiss saw the improvement in the clean streets, bountiful harvests and fresh air, but the people, the power holding the place, it doesn't change.

It is the same cruel men, baby maker women and workers who lived like slaves. A word 'squire' would be quite laughable if it only means you could be a 'servant' to the host. A servant in equal hold for a 'knight'; a mocking revolt to the King's respectable title. Thank the goodness Lady Maureen is different or else Weiss has bitten the bush and include her in her list who will be not spared when the purge is near. She hated it, to be slapped in the face of the reality, of hoping something has been amended. She grew disappointed. She grew to not believe the King's words.

With that said she was still, in a nocturnal state- a sleep deprive child who sees the cruelty of the world. She wanted to save the place, not because it is her birthright, no. She wanted to purify these place; a bridge across the land of Avalon. So she must do something, in preparations of the visions she saw. Just a small thing is enough. A baby steps to improvisation. A way to help Mordred take over something destined to her by her father.

She stands up unto her small chair, silently moving upon the snoring princess of the realm.

Weiss tilts her head to the side…. Then, she smiled as she looks at the sorry state the princess is in. The babe wore a big cloth that rolls down her slump shoulder which passed close to her knees ridden up to expose her loincloth and up into the round belly of the babe. The arms were in uncomfortable angles with legs sprouted like a ballerina in its dancing shoes. Mordred's hair, if awake was almost tamed- is now like a tentacles of sorts, bristled like a wolf's fur pointing in different places, tangled and messy.

Weiss pushed the blankets close to the princess's chin and reassembling haphazard limbs sprawled on the hard mattress before dabbing a cloth in the line of drool, shaking her head at the less appealing side of Mordred. She gives Mordred credit however to sleep comfortably in a scratchy chute and humid room without windows to relieve the stench of sweat with barely light to see what's in front of them.

' _Thank heavens she doesn't smell horrible. Come to think of it, she doesn't smell anything awful other than ripe apple.'_ Weiss thought, waving a hand to the lit lamp, smothering its flame with her magic.

Satisfied with her work, the fairy step out of Mordred's chamber to the sleeping Lady and out the halls without making a sound. She waited for minutes to see if there's a soldiers roaming about. She grew satisfied with a bare amount of comfort, passing the halls without seeing a movement of life.

She could still remember these halls, once a nightmare she lived for years before she was saved with her mother. She recalls the rocky floor, where she would be dragged on her hair as her screams reverts in the walls like a small quakes, thunderous and miserable, without anyone even make an effort to relieve her pain. She have seen the faces who ignored her, those who helped her and her mother in the siege of knights of that faithful day and those who were new, albeit familiar with the customs of the castle.

Her muscles grew strained when her feet led her to the chamber whom she was tortured, as she can still taste the blood on her teeth, the pain in between and the scar of sensitivity she barred in men. It was lighted, justified by the dim light passing on the floor below the door. There were voices; two voices in fact. Voices that speak of pleasure, as if it echoes in her ears the voice of her father who steal her chastity. Voices she recalled as Lord Ohbert's and an unknown lady. Not Lady Maureen who slept peacefully in her chambers. No, just a lady. A whore lady. Her stomach coiled and she bared her hands into fists.

There are four things she hated the most about humankind:

The stupidity of humanity.

Women's submissiveness to be a complete whore to men.

Infidelity or Betrayal of a loved ones.

And the most important of all; **the existence of men**.

She is repulsed. She is disgusted.

She raised her palms up the door….

But she drew no magic. No incantation. No vulgar words to sprout.

She let it limp to her side, as if the energy in her left her system.

She might have hated it with passion, or she might curse it upon her grave…

Yet she has no ill will to kill. She has no choice but to endure her pain.

Humans, even other races make mistakes, dirtied by their sins or were they lost redemption of their soul. However loved she was to the idea of extinction of men, by wallowing into her hatred and letting it foster her view to the humanity as a whole… makes her no better than the people, who likely scarred her bare.

It would not benefit her mindset, nor will it ease the pain she had suffered. Moreover, it would taunt her vengeance- a sickening emotion repulsed by her little heart.

So she slithered away, head bowed low vanishing towards her secret haven in this damnable castle.

She walks far down the castle, towards a blind pane of grasses and high into the woods. Into a fallen branch she scoot down, sliding down its dark trunk and crawl at the vein of thorns in a shady moor. The thorns do nothing but caress her like a sweet newborn before she entered a blinding forest, where flowers are shining and is made of colorful gems and stones. She looks at the horizon with her fairy vision and sees the Gates of Avalon.

Her sisters greeted her with a hum of pleasant air. They gazed, welcomingly, upon her slump form.

She smiled, genuinely before she sat into the ground, coiled like a snake and cried her heart out.

* * *

She didn't know what happened, on how the Lord Ohbert has been giving her a very difficult time.

For one she was diligent as a squire and Lady Maureen's words to guide her at dusk till dawn. She require bath at the slow peak of sunlight, clothed to pray at the church at the back of the castle – _even if she disinterestedly close her eyes and think of her parents-_ , pull the Lady's clothes and draw a bath, leave to bought the Lady's food and like a puppy, she would follow her wherever she goes. So she was quite stumped, when said Lord had shouted her name, saying made-up curses while holding his round belly and wafting off unpleasant smell of human feces that falls every few minutes unto the floor.

She doesn't have enough time to pull a very disgusting- if not shrewd prank to harm the Lord. She was at loss of what to do until her Lady, defended her with teeth and claws. She was called demon's spawn, is needed of punishment of diluting the Lord's appetite for food and poisoning him so he would exert feces without his violation.

She's in dreadful state of misperception but speak none, as is the Lady had lectured her in her rudeness to the Lord of the castle, even though she is right and just. She compelled to her Lady, but she will speak when necessary to protect those she cared.

Once, she was in the garden, with a fruit basket in hand when the Lord have grassed into her, deride and pompous with those smell still in place. He said if she were to stay as Lady Maureen's squire, she will do as he said. She didn't talk then, when the Lady has been there chastising the Lord. But the fat man is having none of it, and he ordered her to gather a pile of apples up into the tree without dirtying her shirt and trousers.

The Lord ridiculed her, as if such simple task is unbearable.

She would have disobeyed, if not for Weiss' wise words whispered by the breeze.

' _You are alive so keep living. You have two feet so keep walking. You have a choice then wield it. If you're hesitant, I have one word for you:_ _ **just do it.**_ _'_

With a surge of energy, Mordred sniff that day. It is quite artless but nonetheless muddled when the Lord had struck the bargain when he had nothing to say about her servitude to the Lady. The apple tree was with a dirty saps and slightly wet branches when the light drizzle grazed the land that night. So she did the task quite droll, the Lady said that day. She never know; it's a normalcy for her.

She put the basket down gently, before doffing off her clothes other than a loincloth.

The servants gasped with the Lord and Lady of the castle. Carefully putting her clothes in a good patch of dry rocks to not sully her clothes, she stands and picked up the basket; put it into her head as if it was a headdress before climbing up, naked.

The tasked was completed, without sullying her clothes.

She was then left alone for a moment, before she was called, yet again to do his bidding. Lady Maureen is not amused, but contented that Mordred has a mind for such thing, thus was in a side supporting her silently.

She is to walk at night in a forest. She is to find the tallest tree and tie a golden rope in its trunk. The Lady warned her of wolves and occasional bears, and the Lord hoped she were to die in the forest, mauled by their beastly fangs and paws. But Mordred is resolute; she will prove the Lord those animals are not beastly, and wished he would eat his words. She left the castle with the golden rope and a small lamp, with the Lord vehemently making her heed to the locks of the doors and militias to guard it to prevent her from coming in for the night.

She gripped her lamp tightly, unafraid of the woods. When she was deep in the moors, did she forget a simple fact of the night. She could not see the tallest tree in the darkest hours with a lamp. And then she evoked his words.

She tried to settle on a lonely branch, flies and mosquitoes are a great nuisance. When she jumped down, did she hear the grumble of a wolves purr. She stared at them, golden irises glowing, four that time. Gray wolves, a pack of some sort. She have smiled at them like a long lost friend, undaunted as she was with her pet Lionas and the wolves had accept her like a pup.

So, with that being said, the pack had led her into their den, where she was greeted with six white pups, in an age of three to four months. There, she slept until the dawn breaks and she saw the tallest tree. She tied the trunk with the golden rope before walking back to the castle.

She was greeted with farce words then, of the Lord stammering obscenities being rebuked by a soldier who confirmed the tasked fulfilled.

"You said that I was to walked at the woods," she explained, quite smug as the Lord sizzle in his saliva. "You didn't say I was to find the tree at night."

"How are you not dead!?" he demanded, amusing the mischievous child all the more.

"Didn't you know?" she liked how she was gaining attention, winning by some play of his indefinite orders with ambiguities. "I'm a lion cub of my Mama! I'm a princess of the Jungle!"

If they listened well, they would've known she was telling the whole truth.

Then, not a day after that, she was ordered to make the Lord sleep at the very spot he was standing, without leaving the room to bring a draught or a musical instrument to lull him into slumber. Mordred was audibly twitching at the stupidity, hesitant to the slightest jeer of the Lord. She looked at the Lady for guidance, but said Lady was silent, muted as she watched in interest of what she will do. She have a glint in her eyes, flickering by the lamp and torches of the chamber they are in.

The Lord sniggered at her then, closing his eyes so she could do everything she wanted to find, expecting her to leave the room and caught her in the act so she could leave her title as a squire, shameful and crying to her peasant family.

Mordred done none of that, yet she was with a burning flame in her heart. Call her all they want with their leers and snarky replies, but no family of hers would be insulted by a Lord who knows nothing of her father's and mother's scion.

So she inspects the room, a small library, she would say. The chair and the lamps, the shelves and the windows and the floors and tables, nothing escape her notice. She didn't need a lyre or a flute to do his bidding. Why would she do that when she have an alternative?

She pulled a huge and hardwood book, with heavy cover and plated flat steel on its spine and edges. So she takes the book, and silently walked behind the still closed eyed man, bragging for nothing.

She put the book on an arm reach, twisting her waist for the force. She throws it, as hard as she could. As a matter of fact to the princess, and what her father clearly told her with pride; Mordred has an aim of a true archer, as is the book sail at the man with deadly accuracy to his nape, edge first before the heavy slam rocked the man on his step, down and motionless to the floor, unconscious.

She would have pulled a chair yet her small frame prohibited her.

The Lady was satisfied, almost chortling at the foolish husband, and few days had gone by with the Lord in his room, tended by the Maester of herbs and health.

So when that morning came, Mordred jerk in surprise as a hand slammed on her table, sloshing her food quite messily on the ground and dirtying the table with a fresh grape essence she worked hard to squeeze. She stared, forlorn. She is quite famished, not even a bite and her chance are destroyed.

She looked at Lord Ohbert in confusion, saying nothing into the enrage face of the fat man. She is still at the dark of his ire as she have done nothing wrong.

"Go into the market," his voice is authoritative, calm unlike his past snarls. Mordred twitch in discomfort, silently hoping the Lady would come quick for naught. "And fetch me a woman who will quench my thirst for lust, rode me like a stallion I am and would shake my whole body as I trembled with passion." With those parting words he fled.

Mordred grew strained, tilting her head to the side. Such words are practically confusing, but she resist no tempt to dissuade the Lord. She didn't know any of those words, but she will find a woman who can rode him like a stallion and who can emit a tremble in his body.

"Got it." She said. The task is a mere played words for a specific person.

Mordred knows just about a good person for his task. So with it and a mournful farewell to her food, a question to an old lady, a bid of farewell to her Lady and a hand full of Dinadan did Mordred shuts out of the castle as if in pursuit.

Yes, she has a woman to track and find.

Dinadan run with the princess, a full blown grin in his usually wolfish mischief.

"Oh he will be in one _quite interesting_ surprise," he snickered, ruffling the blonde mane.

Mordred gave him a toothy smirk, before they raced on the market, asking direction on where to go.

* * *

"Oh? Why hello, dear." An aged women in a noble clothing answered the door, kind yet poised, unafraid to bent down at her level to see her eye to eye. "And what do I owe the pleasure of serving you, young one?"

Mordred merely grinned, scratching her nape as she looked at friendly eyes, embarrassed. Dinadan thought it fit to interrupt then, placing his hands to the princess' small shoulder.

"Hello, my Lady! If I may ask, are you my Lord Ohbert's mother? Your son has demanded for…. _Specific_ invitation only _you_ can provide."

* * *

Lord Ohbert's eye twitched.

"You fetched me my mother." He stated, blandly at the princess who tilts her head to his unsatisfied expression.

"Well, yes?" she slowly answered, confused as she'll ever be. Sometimes she would tick her hands on her trousers, recalling if she were to overlook something that the man in front of her was displeased about. "You said to bring you a woman who can rode you like a stallion and who can emit a tremble in your body. I felt it when my Mama's angry at me so I do as she pleased and I would shake in my bones because I don't like her becoming angry. Isn't it the same to you? "

The Lord could not refute.

Mordred had accomplished her tasked with a less than stellar reaction from the Lord, who has a mother on his tail, disciplining his arrogant behavior.

Alas, such day had come where she was humbly called in the Lord's work room, behind the Lady who was without an ounce of hesitance to her steps. They entered, expecting words harsher than blades.

Yet they were none.

There in the window stood the Lord, back into the light of the moon, making his silhouette intimidating with his unusually clear brown eyes.

Mordred stood there, quiet. Awaiting another order, on guard to masked her expression.

"You have fulfilled my whims and for naught you accomplished it." The Lord praised, so unexpected the princess has taken aback. His voice speaks of confidence, lace with icy irony to his past actions. "But with it I am humored, and with my last feat I expect nothing less…"

The princess bated breath, gripping the words uttered like a life line, towards the comfort of the awkwardness hanging in the air.

"… with this task fulfilled, I am to step down my place as Mourdruide's Lord. Such… is my devotion to a task I knew no one would succeed, especially to a child the likes of you." With the growing silence, the Lord continues.

"You are to bring me something worth of a lifetime. Something that can be broken, mend, forged, crossed and cut. It can be forgotten or it could be disciplined all your life. It is with trust or deceit. A false or truth in it. It can bend mountains, part seas and annihilate kingdoms. Bring me something unimaginable, deep without your heart… you will see what it was."

She could only gawked, immeasurably uncomfortable.

On what folly will she find something so huge of a favor!?

* * *

She's in predicament, en passé and weary. The blue moon's rays did nothing to calm her heavy heart. Nor were the tears she shed nonstop. Without sleep and a water to quench her aching stomach for days, she would've deemed it miracle to live, if not for the wood elves that seeps her humanly weakness.

She didn't come back into the castle. Afraid in fact, to be reminded by the phantoms of her childhood.

It was no mistake she were here, she told herself she was strong, that none would crumble her walls.

Yet such is just that; words.

Take her support given by her mother and she'll be a duckling in a pond of flesh eating fishes. Take the freedom of movement gifted by the King and she will be caged in her nightmares.

Dinadan is a great companion, yet one glance and she'll flinch at the reminder of his masculinity.

Her respite, though absent, is from the thought of a blonde princess who was in the castle of Mourdruide.

So she wait there, beyond the plains after the long journey to a lively forest, to a grassy field with flowers that blooms beautifully greeting the moon above, picking flowers with her deft and lithe hands, slow and not pressured, paced with her inner turmoil.

"There you are!" an exclaimed brought her back out her musing, as the princess bounding into her worn with a cloak and her custom clothes bear furrowed brows.

Weiss averts facing the tot, who dropped unto her side and breathe a heavy sigh of resigned.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, ya know…." Her companion said, and she gave no reason to retort. She just sits there, awaiting long elucidations, perfectly resolved to hide her tired mien to the squire.

"The fat Lord gave me my last task, do ya know? It is difficult as he said it was. It is riddled, I know but… still, I cannot imagine such an object worth its moniker! Part seas. Bend mountains… hah! That's quite a feat is it not?"

She didn't retort, merely heeding to the exaggerated tirade of the babe. The cricket's wing hums creating relaxing scenery of peace, and the wind blows on the grass awakening hundreds of fireflies that lit up the night.

"Are you listening to me?"

A nod.

"Do you think I will obtain the thing the Lord told?"

Another nod of the head.

"Weiss…" a hand gripped her sleeves, beckoning her to look in the speaker to no avail. "Weiss? Are you mad at me?"

Weiss hummed in surprised, dumbstruck at those lofty words. Mad? To Mordred?

"No." she replied all too quickly, shaking her head. A hand caught her chin, pushing it to face the princess. She let it be, but place her eyes at the scenery of all instead of the blonde babe.

"Then why aren't you looking at me? You hide from me too. I couldn't find you for days. And nights." the words sounds accusatory, if not for a fact Weiss heard the hurt laden in her boyish voice. She let a small peak in vibrant eyes and there she was stricken, trapped in the concern radiating onto it, leaning close to see her face.

"Hey…" Mordred began, squinting her eyes as if putting something into pieces. Weiss thought it romantic, two children in a field with fireflies, close as if to kiss… "… why do you look like a bear? A sleep deprived bear at that."… if the blonde didn't accursed her like an animal, she would've believed.

She scowled, trying to pull her face free of the fingers holding her chin, when a thumb below her eyes froze her attempt.

The princess met her eyes, and she _grinned._

Not a grin with mischief or fakeness.

Nor was it rogue or wolfish.

She grinned with so much _joy_ , eyes closed to accommodate chubby cheeks pushed by the most and the brightest of grins.

Weiss didn't know why her face seems so warm, or her heart to speed up its beats.

Yet she knew one thing; it makes her _safe._

"Idiot. I thought you're ranting about your task. Don't you want to complete it quickly then? So don't bother me."

"Ehh…" Mordred tilts her head to the side, a duplicitous giggle bubbling on her throat. "You're more important at the moment. I don't want to spend another night thinking of your whereabouts when you're here trying to be sneaky."

"… Stupid." She chuckled, pushing away the face half- heartedly, straightening shoulders slump for the duration of the week. She felt the fresh air filled her lungs, without a single problem to block its ease of passage. For a moment she distress. For a while she forgot her nightmares, until the princess takes it all away.

"Truly, you look like you didn't sleep well." Mordred pushed, compelling the limbs off of crown of flowers to take one for her own. Mordred intertwined slightly calloused hands unto Weiss' soft ones, assuring, as if willing to listen by her whim. Her voice is somber, childish yet mature. "You didn't sleep for days now, are ya? I've been searching every night of your presence at the castle, but you were not there."

Weiss gripped the hand upon hers, trying to find the courage for the words.

Mordred is a good child, from a just family with a mother and father to guide her well. She is meticulous to her belief and determined to prove the world with her feats. She is charming, witty and prideful- no one wouldn't cave to her might.

Yet she is also loyal to her companions, a great friend in need. She is compassionate to those she held dear. Furious to those she disliked. And has different sides of character to show each and every people she comes across on her life.

She could be trustful yet so full of deceit. Happy and full of fury.

Can she trust one so difficult? Can she open up to a child who has an enthusiastic viewpoint of goodness to the world?

Can she trust Mordred? Can she ease her pain? Can she accept her even if she's broken? Dirtied? Used? Filthy at such a young age?

Will she be offended? Will she push her away? Will she gossip about her secrets? Will she tell her sullied life to everyone she befriended?

She's scared to trust, scared to lose a precious person. She's afraid to speak.

She can't.

Maybe Mordred will-

"Hey," Mordred called her racing thoughts, giving her hand a squeezed of security. "I won't force you, alright? I will be here if you need me. So.. ya know," a thumb trace her chin again and Weiss blinked, astounded. "Cry all you want. I won't go anywhere."

When did she start crying?

She tried to breathe but a tension leaves her throat constricted and her nose to turn red in the upcoming pressure on her face.

So she sobbed, until it became two. Then three. Four. Continuous burning whimpers, she slapped her mouth with both of her hands, trying to rein the sound, trying to hide her pain.

Can she trust Mordred?

Will she accept her for what she is?

But Mordred's eyes are so _enthrallingly sincere_. So utterly _comforting_ her walls crumbled like dirt in an avalanche of land.

Weiss then realized, she was asking the wrong question.

Does she trust Mordred?

 _Yes, yes she did._

She flings her body to already opened arms, crying in small shoulders, encircling warm neck. She wailed on Mordred's ear, whimpering at the tension of her tattered heart.

Mordred let her be, if not, all the more she tighten her arms as much as her small limbs can hold, not minding the wet sensation nor the ear piercing screams.

Mordred cooed on her ear, like how her mother would calm her broken cries. "I'm here, Weiss. I'm always here. I _promise._ "

And so Weiss felt her, who opens the doors of gilded cage, of the iron maiden hiding her anguish. She brings up the lid of her Pandora box, telling the princess of her childhood. Of what her body endure. Of what cause her mind to break. Of her window of soul to be bashed again and again.

She told her of her raped. Of hopelessness. Of her demise.

She told her of loneliness. Of unimaginable pain to lose innocence. To be under pressure.

To be controlled. To be ordered dirtier than a dog. Ruthlessly enslave. Abused. Used every night. Humiliated in prying eyes.

Shamed by stripping in public. By being _used_ by the public. By being watched as an auction.

She was paid for it. To be used by many, partnered or just plain mobbed by unappealing mass of men.

She is tortured. Expected to play like an animal. Treated worse than animal. Borrowed by men. Played by men.

Laughed by men. An interesting art for children. A delectable excitement for women.

And when she finished, she realized the bruising gripped of the princess, who had a quiver on her shoulder and a wail of cries of her own.

She never told anyone, and to blindly trust Mordred is one of her greatest relief so far. Not even the Knights and the King knows of the extent she and her mother suffered at the hands of this people. It felt liberating, like a float to the clouds. She smiled despite of tears. She laughs at her sorry state. She laughed to the world who tortured her so.

Mordred shed tears, tears for the little fairy in her arms. Tears of fury. Tears of joy. Tears of guilt. Tears of sorrow. Relief. Disgust. Acceptance. Bitterness. Hatred. Hopelessness. Love. Forgiveness.

It is suffocating, so utterly devastating.

She knows not of what she done and thought, but she willed her arms up towards the fairy's face and clasped swelling cheeks down to hers.

She meets those lips with hers.

 _I'm sorry. Forgive me. How dare they. I am thankful. I didn't know. I'll protect you. I won't let them hurt you anymore. I'll kill them. I will be there. I want to take your pain away. I'm sorry. Forgive me. I love you. Cry. Please don't cry. Don't forgive them. I'll remember. You're important. I want you. Don't let go. You're my precious person. I'll protect you. I will. I would. I love you. I'm sorry. Forgive me. I am thankful. I am glad I met you. I want you. Please let me in. I'll treasure you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you. I will protect you. I promise._ _ **I promise.**_

She feels smooth flesh. Taste salty tears. Smell velvety fragrance. See obvious blush. Hear thudding hearts.

It is not a kiss of a parent to a child.

Nor was it a kiss of greeting to stranger.

Nor was it a kiss of friends.

Nor was it a kiss of lovers.

No.

It is a kiss of promise.

A promise of a lifetime.

A promise forged by their bond.

A promise of oath to keep.

A promise of trust.

A promise of truth.

A promise that can move mountains.

A promise that can part seas.

A promise which can ruin kingdom.

A promise born from the unimaginable.

A promise deep within Mordred's heart.

She pulls away, only to nuzzle the fairy on the temple, crying all the same.

" _I promise. Weiss, I_ _ **promise.**_ "

* * *

"You succeed."

 _Did she? At what cost?_

A baritone voice stopped Mordred in her catatonic state of walking. Her arms folded, carrying a sleeping fairy clutching her shirt in her death grip.

Mordred lets her. She won't let her go.

Footsteps echoes on silent hallway and Mordred impassively stare at the Lady Maureen, next to a young man who looks similar to the Lady. He wear dark clothes and soddy footwear. He had a cloak that blends to the darkness.

He grinned at her like he has seen a feat of the century. Mordred don't care.

He's a man.

She gripped Weiss harder close to her chest. She felt numb but she won't let go.

She promised.

"Can't you recognize me, young one?" the man talks, but Mordred don't care.

 _Someone from this place. One of the people who dirtied Weiss. She didn't want to know him. They are all the same._

"It is I, Lord Ohbert. Well, merely Ser Ohbertus, Knight of Mourdruide now. Interesting fact, there's no title of the Lord who bears the title of Mourdruide since it is waiting for an heiress of the kingdom. A king who salvaged what is innocent in the roots." Mordred almost makes a sound of astonishment, when she thought of the fat Lord and the man in front of her that speaks of firm practice and training to build such frame.

 _But he's with them. The people. The disgusting people._

The man chuckled, scratching his nape nervously. "I was cursed by the Lady of the Lake. It is prophesized that a 'Knight of Birthright' would break my spell. It would break if you consummate the words I uttered last with all the trust I have, fulfilled within the deepest heart. I might not see your heartfelt 'promise', but you bring me my freedom still. So I'm grateful of you, young one. You have my word as my debt repaid. I will be your knight into this very day. You are to owe the castle and the Land of Mourdruide now, with it comes duty to the people."

 _Duty? To the hellions? To whoremongers and whores?_

Mordred stared hard, processing what she was given. The man was still speaking, telling her that Lady Maureen is his sister, where they are in cover because of the fairies advice to be.

But she cared not of that.

She cared none.

 _They are all the same. Innocent looking, but they hurt Weiss. Weiss is scared of them. They are threat. All of them are._

She can't even lift a smile on her face in her accomplishment. Can't even push false cheer in her eyes.

If her passing make her the Lady of Mourdruide and earned the Lord's place in the castle, to uphold duty to the same people who hurt her Weiss?

It doesn't diminish the fact that in order to complete her tasked, is to find a bigger burden to be revealed. To promise with conviction. To promise with her might.

 _I'll never be one of them. I hate them._ _ **I hate them.**_

" **Fuck you**." Mordred cussed, surprising the two people in front of her. She doesn't care about how they will react.

She doesn't care of what happens tomorrow.

Nothing matters. Just Weiss. And promised. Her promise.

Fuck the Lord.

Fuck the Lady.

Fuck Moudruide.

Fuck its people.

She grits her teeth, not letting stubborn tears to fall. She holds Weiss close, shielding her from harm.

"I hate this place. I hate what I heard. I hate what I am now seeing. Realizing. Second guessing. I hate this land. Do you think I will be happy after what you made me do!? Do you think I WOULD JUST IGNORE WHAT I HEARD!? GOD BE DAMNED! FUCK YOU! **FUCK ALL OF YOU!** " her voiced roared.

As if awakening a dragon.

"No!" Weiss shook her head side to side, hiccupping last of her sleep as the princess waits for her, so patiently quiet. "Please don't hate them. Please."

 _What._ Her princess is baffled, coming from someone who suffers at the hands of the people she met. Don't Weiss want revenge? Don't she want to leave this place behind!?

Mordred's piercing glare reflects her mute inquiry, trying to see the answer from muddled eyes working its self to be clear of sleep.

"I didn't tell you so you could change what you think, but I did tell you because I trust you wouldn't change." the fairy holds her shoulder, pleading for the people. "The king, your father- he came here to kill, to destroy for you. But he saw the people, saw their state and he thought of what you'll do. I asked him why, why did he let them lived? ' _Love them. Don't let them astray._ ' he said. ' _Mordred would be proud_ ', he said."

Mordred sobbed and hiccups at her father's words. It is now Weiss' turn to dry her tears, pleading for the place.

"So Mordred, don't let hate consume you. Don't let your father's love to you gone to waste. Look at the good of people, you stupid. Because we see the hope _in you. They need you Mordred, more than I need you._ "

"… I promised…" she hissed in her breathe. "… _**I promise**_ _. I won't forgive them. I can't._ "

"You can forgive, Mordred. I have forgiven them. _You can forgive, but you can never forget._ "

* * *

 _Dearest Mother,_

 _Mother, Weiss have told me of her fears. I don't know mother. Why… why didn't I see this sooner? Why didn't I know she was from the placed I was hoping to be knighted. A place where she was tortured mother. A place as disgusting as its people. I.. I don't know what to do. It hurts mother. Why does it hurts me so? When she was telling me her story mother, I can feel her pain. I.. It's so heavy I can't understand how she could keep it for so long. I want to take her pain mother, because it hurts just to hear it, but to experience it? Mother I… it hurts so_ _ **so**_ _much. Why is this mother? My chest feels like it was stack with stones. I can't breathe. I can't sleep when I know Weiss is in so much pain. I want to protect her so much I… Mama it hurts soooo much. I kissed her mama, because I don't know my hug feels so empty back then. She cried so much Mama, I cried with her. I don't want to feel that pain anymore Mama. I hate Weiss feels that pain too._

 _Mama, please come to me. Mama, please… I don't know what to do! Mama… mama I promised her Mama I won't let her go. Why is it Mama? I was just doing something the Lord ordered me to and then they gave me this tasked and now owned the place. But that's it Mama, I heard the truth from Weiss. How this place became so scary. I yelled at the people here, I'm angry. So_ _ **so angry. Why did they do that! Why did they hurt Weiss!? They hurt her Mama, they're bad! So bad! Why didn't they help Weiss!? Why didn't they help my friend!? She told me they turned their backs, Mama! Tell me, how could they do that to a child!?**_ _Mama, please tell Dada I want to go home. Weiss isn't safe here. I do not like it here. Mama I want to go home. Please tell Miss Esmeralda I promised I will protect Weiss so she wouldn't be scared. Mama, please let Dada return us home. I hate it here. I hate that Dada named it to honor me. Where is their honor? Where did it go wrong? Why are they like this? 'More dread' it is, such a fitting name for such a pity child of yours mama. Is that it? Is Dada trying to kill me here? Please come mama. I hated this._ _ **I hate here.**_ _ **I hate the people here.**_

 _But….. Weiss make me promise to forgive them Mama. She wanted me to save them. Wanted me to love them like how Dada love me. I.. I can't, I don't… I don't know if I can. I need you so much mama, please make it better. Weiss wants me to continue my dream and I promise I will not change. But it's hard. Is this it mama? When they told me I'm a naïve little fool? Why am I now seeing this mama? Why… I don't understand. But I promised Mama, I promise. What will I follow; my promise or my anger?_

 _I never felt so angry in my short life Mama,_

 _It burns._

 _ **Mordred**_

* * *

 **PREVIEW:**

" _I will try…" Mordred sniffs, laughing for the first time in ages._

" _Weiss is having a paper with her. Weiss will give you it so you could write to queen mother. Isn't Weiss so helpful?"_

" _Dinadan, what on earth happen to you?"_

" _Blame Weiss."_

" _Mordred be doing nasty. Mordred be sticking you with a pointy end."_

" _Lady Weiss?"_

" _Just…. Just ignore her, Ser Ohbertus."_

" _Stop brooding and let's dance, princess." Ohbertus consoled, patiently smiling at the morose blonde, palms outstretch, poised and honest. "Let's dance with our blades."_

" _I don't have a blade."_

" _Altria, I swear on my grave if you do not release her at once I will castrate you. Even if you're a woman."_

" _Wait…. Dada's a woman?"_


End file.
